At Eternity's Gate
by The Magnificent Kiwi
Summary: When Jill's psyche begins to fracture beneath the impact of an unexpected tragedy, old wounds are reopened and newfound freedom is threatened by the looming presence of a powerful enemy. Post-RE5. C/J L/C B/R
1. Prologue

**At Eternity's Gate**

_'Time takes it all whether you want it to or not, time takes it all.  
Time bares it all away, and in the end there is only darkness.  
Sometimes we find others in that darkness,  
__and sometimes we lose them there again.'  
_~Stephen King~

**_Prologue_**

**_June 14, 2009. 6:18pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

The corridors were empty, but no thoughts echoed off the walls. His mind was a blank slate, memories tumbling from the weathered surface.

Why was everything so painfully white? White matte on the walls, white tiles beneath his feet, the white shirt he wore, now stained with her blood. It coated his hands, his sleeves forever tarnished. There were prints against the wall, where his hands had carelessly pressed against the painted surface. No matter where he looked, that crimson shone against the white...there was no running, no escaping.

Her dress had been white, too. White, with the unwelcome flower marring such a beautiful gown. White like her skin, flushed and soiled. White like their bathroom...but not anymore.

_The house was empty when he pushed through the front door; quiet...too quiet. The TV played on mute, a solitary glass lying flush with the carpet, water soaking through the shag._

_"Jill?" he called as he deposited his jacket on the arm of the sofa, retrieving the fallen glass._

_She could not have gone far, not when her keys lay against the polished surface of the coffee table._

_"Chris!" Her voice was a shriek, searing into every bone. His legs moved before his mind could react, carried him up the staircase, towards sobs that became louder with each and every step._

_He found her in the bathroom, coiled against the side of the tub, a blood-stained hand all that kept her upright. It was with rushed urgency that he fell to her side, holding her tear-streaked face as his eyes frantically searched for the source of the blood and of her evident pain._

_"This...can't be...happening!" she gasped. "Please...just make it stop."_

_It was then that he glanced downwards, crimson spatters against her white dress catching his eye. With all the gentleness he could muster, he pulled her into him, and her feet slipped, body unfolding as she clung to his shirt. Her thighs were saturated with blood, dress stained beyond all hope of repair. And yet, he found that he could do nothing but stare, suspended in disbelief as his heart shuddered to a standstill._

She had been unable to walk, barely able to speak. He was sure that he had broken the speed limit on the race to the hospital, but his mind had been elsewhere. Traffic laws meant nothing, not as consciousness slowly slipped from her, and her limp body slumped against him, head resting carelessly against his shoulder.

Barely an hour ago, he had been dining with Claire; a long-overdue catch-up. Never before in his life had smiles and laughter descended so quickly into something so dark and hopeless.

A nurse passed with light steps, nose buried in a chart, paying not the slightest bit of attention to his presence. Why would she? Surely this was not so uncommon a sight.

He wished that they would extend him the courtesy of a little news, something to ease his worry. Even so, he told himself that everything would work out; it had to. There was so much in their future and for once in their lives the path they walked was not bathed in shadow.

"Mr. Redfield?"

He had not registered the doctor approach, though he did not jump as he announced his presence.

"How is she?" he asked, wasting no time.

From his many encounters with hospital staff, he had learnt a few behavioural tells. The smile before the reveal of good news, the bowing of the head prior to deliverance of that which was tragic. This doctor displayed neither; his frown was new to Chris's experience, nervousness unheard of.

"You are Miss Valentine's fiancé?"

He nodded impatiently. Why would he not just get to the point?"

"Mr. Redfield, I'm sorry," the doctor sighed. "There was nothing we could do; your fiancée has miscarried."

And with four words, somehow his entire world came tumbling down. The edges of his vision blurred and bile rose in his throat, heart struggling for a single beat.

He raised a hand to his jaw, brushing against stubble. He had to be dreaming, had to be caught in some twisted nightmare.

It had been nine weeks since her pregnancy had been discovered, and a further four since the night it all began; medically, the doctors had placed her at roughly fourteen weeks. The risk of miscarriage should have been over, there should have been no worry now, not like this...he was going to be a father!

One night was all it had taken, one night where their injuries became insignificant, the need to feel _close_ to something or some_one_ proving too powerful. There had been love, but mostly there had been desperation. More wounds had been aggravated than healed; all but one...the one that mattered. And something wonderful had sprung from that moment. Something wonderful that was evidently not meant to be.

"Can I see her?" he asked, voice barely audible. He had to know that she was alright; if she was feeling but half the impact that he felt right now, then she needed him, just as he needed her.

"I'm sorry," the doctor apologised. "Jill haemorrhaged; she is being taken care of as we speak. I assure you, we are doing all that we can."

Haemorrhaged? How was that possible? But the memories of blood returned, and it all made sense. This was too much. After all she had been through, this was too much.

"There is a restroom down the hall. Why don't you clean yourself up and get something to eat? I will let you know when she is ready for visitors."

Chris nodded weakly. The mere thought of food made his stomach turn, but he was sure that his appearance would frighten anyone who happened to pass. A blood-stained figure in the obstetrics department never meant anything good.

The bathroom, he found, was far down the corridor, far away from where he had left her. The clinically white walls turned a light shade of blue, but he barely noticed. His destination was on the very edge of a large waiting room. There was little doubt which area of the hospital he had wandered into; storks were appropriate décor in only one environment.

There were families seated, waiting. All the while, he could do nothing but consider the fact that it should have been him. Four months ago he had believed that he would never have a child of his own. He could still recall the moment the doctor attending to Jill in Africa had looked her in the eye and told her that the T-virus was gone from her system, that she was clean. Every decision of importance was made in that moment; yes, they would be together and yes, they would have children. Now, the dream had been dangled and then snatched away.

With barely a secondary glance to the waiting families, he pushed on the restroom door, crimson smudging against the smooth surface.

The blood washed away beneath warm water and gentle soap, though he knew it would take more than a little soap to remove the stain from his shirt. He doubted that he would be able to look at the item again; it would have to go.

_"Chris." Her voice was quiet, but he could sense inner excitement. A smile was restrained, and she approached him with cautious steps, reaching for his hands._

_His attention was focused solely on her as he rose from the sofa. There were no more boxes scattered around the living room, though he knew the upstairs would still be in quite a state. For moving day, they had achieved quite a lot, but aches had settled into overworked muscles and both were ready to fall into bed and leave the day behind them. Though he had largely kept it under wraps, he was dancing inside at the knowledge that finally they had a house of their own, a place in which to settle down. He assumed that this was the reason for her undertone of elation. She had been feeling unwell lately; it pleased him more than he could ever say to see her with a smile on her face, and he did not wish to question her happiness._

_"Time for bed?" he questioned suggestively. But she continued to smile, biting her bottom lip coyly as he took her hands into his._

_"I'm pregnant."_

Chris froze, thick droplets of water falling between his fingers. In his heart, he had felt so much joy in that moment. Now, he could not even recall the feeling.

Holding his hands beneath the tap, he allowed water to fill the makeshift reservoir and splashed his face, the air cold against his damp skin. Did he think that it would help?

_Her hands appeared on his shoulders, lips softly touching his cheek. The newspaper in his hands dropped to the floor as he jumped, too engrossed in the article he had been perusing to sense her approach._

_"I was thinking," she hummed as her hands slid downwards, arms wrapping lovingly around his neck. "Bedroom one would be best for the nursery. It's a little bigger, and it's closest to the master so we won't be too far away."_

He flinched against the impact of the memory, hand slipping against the porcelain sink. No matter how tightly he closed his eyes, or how forcefully he pushed at sorrow, that darkness overwhelmed him and not a single atom of light could penetrate its boundaries.

There would be no funeral; there was barely a child to bury. Where would they find closure? They would be sent home with barely another word on the subject, expected to carry on with their lives as though nothing had happened. After all, she had barely begun to show, there was barely a child there to miss. The doctors wouldn't understand, neither would their friends. They had lived with the promise of life for nine weeks. After almost eleven years of misery, they had lapped up every moment of happiness.

His legs felt weak beneath him, incapable of supporting his weight. Almost at the last moment, he pressed himself into the nearby wall, sliding slowly down its surface. He was cold, though the air was warm, arms trembling though the chill had not hit bone.

'What the hell is going to happen now?'

He did not know; perhaps this blow was too harsh? Was he to lose his child and the woman he loved in the same night, by the same cruel act of fate?

Whatever the outcome, in that moment he felt utterly helpless.

* * *

**_June 14, 2009. 6:30pm. 108 Oakville Apartments. Alexandria, VA._**

For a Sunday, Claire's day sure had been hectic. In retrospect, driving home from Arlington so close to rush hour was a mistake in itself. But she knew that Chris would never have agreed to drive to her; he did not like leaving Jill on her own for long. Though, all things considered, she was handling the aftermath of her ordeal quite well, he had become rather possessive in recent weeks. He wanted to be nearby, he had told her, in case anything happened; if she needed him, he wanted to be there in record time.

Jill herself had been taking his over-attentiveness in good stride. She had admitted to the younger girl that sometimes she simply needed time alone, but she recognised that recovery was not simply about her needs. Two and a half years apart had taken their toll on both Chris and their relationship. There was much to repair, and sometimes sacrifices needed to be made for progress to be achieved.

As she dropped down onto the sofa, Claire kicked off her shoes, cool air soothing her burning skin. Boots had definitely been a bad choice, she concluded as she rubbed life back into her ankles.

"I'm making salad; do you want some?"

Within a fraction of a second, her firearm was pulled from her handbag, bare feet slamming against the carpet as she jumped, training her weapon in the general direction of the kitchen.

Leon froze, the tomato in his hand plummeting to the floor. The bruised fruit rolled carelessly away, coming to rest mere inches from the sofa.

"You can lower the gun now," he told her, eyes trained on the barrel.

"How did you get in?" she demanded, heart pounding furiously as she obliged. "And what the hell happened to your hair?"

As he retrieved the tomato, Leon rolled his eyes, apparently considering his answer.

"You gave me a key," he reminded her. "And nothing happened to my hair. I cut it, that's all."

"I didn't give you a key!" she shouted as she squinted in an attempt to better study his hair without closing the distance between them. "And...seriously? Are those...did you get _layers_?"

Without a single word, he smirked cheekily and strode towards her confidently, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips.

"I missed you too," he teased. "Now do you want salad or not?"

The imprint of his lips against her skin burned white hot, and every thought suddenly became attentive to that small patch of skin. It had been almost six months and still his affection caught her off-guard.

_He pulled back, breath skimming softly along her lips. The taste of him was phenomenal; there was no doubt about that. A potent elixir that ignited the most primal base instincts within her._

_"We can't keep doing this," she whispered. And again, she denied herself._

_"What do you mean?"_

_Could she truly make him understand? He had not spoken to his siblings in years; he could not possibly know how she felt._

_"I keep going round in circles," she groaned, and pushed herself to her feet. "I cry, you're here and...we kiss."_

_Leon__ raised an eyebrow, evidently finding no problem in this arrangement. Truth be told, she knew that he wished for much more._

_"Then...we don't have to kiss," he laughed. "Let's just talk."_

_He gestured to the cushion to his right, but all she felt able to do was stare, ceasing her pacing for but a brief moment._

_"Claire, this isn't your problem," he sighed. "It's been almost two years. If he wants to work himself into an early grave, so be it. I don't see how that is-"_

_"When the hell did you become so insensitive?" Claire fumed, pulling a cushion from the sofa and flinging it towards his head._

_How could he remain so carefree? Did anything penetrate that curtain of hair? The truth of the matter was that life had changed for all of them, and all the wishing in the world could not turn back the hands of time. Somehow, they had all drifted apart. She had not spoken to Chris in almost a year, did not even know his location. Their family had blamed her in part, claiming she should have taken better care of him. But what the hell could she have done? She had tried, and she had failed; there was simply no getting through to him. She barely knew him anymore. The face struck chords of familiarity, but her brother had long since departed._

_She did not linger in the living room, instead making for the comfort of her bedroom. Wherever Leon was not, that was where she needed to be. But, as always, he followed._

_"I'm sorry," he apologised, and she could find not a hint of falsification in his words. "It's been _two years_. I miss her too, but she's gone."_

_She did not turn to give him the satisfaction of her attention, but his hands appeared tenderly on her shoulders, contact kept to a respectful minimum._

_And then, the tears fell._

_"She died protecting him," she wept, leaning back into his body when he offered support. "But for what? It feels as though they're both gone. I miss him, Leon."_

_There was nothing he could say to assuage her fears, so he simply held her, breathing in her scent as he kissed her lightly on the cheek. Somehow, his warmth was enough. It always was._

"Hello?" Leon's voice called, breaking through her delirium. "Earth to Claire."

His cheerful disposition threw her off-guard, despite its apparent staying power. Things were so much easier these days, but their relationship remained complicated. He was her boyfriend, she knew that much, but she still could not place a finger on the point where they had ceased being friends and became something more. Chris was absent much of the two and a half years Jill had been presumed dead - if not in body then in mind - and Leon assumed a role of responsibility in her life. He was always there when she needed a friend, would often stop by her apartment with take out because he knew she would not have cooked for herself. Somewhere down the line, kissing had become the new shaking hands, and they would innocently fall asleep in each other's arms. When Leon had absently labelled her with the word 'girlfriend', she had not corrected him.

This was what she wanted, but doubted that this was the way it was supposed to be. In the months they had been dating, they had never taken their relationship past second base. Though this in itself did not strike her as odd, the idea did. It felt completely natural to her, but in previous relationships she had done so much more in half the time. He could not be blamed for lack of trying; somehow, she could not bring herself to submit.

"What kind of salad is it?" she asked, shaking off the thoughts that drifted through her mind.

Leon shrugged and tossed the tomato casually into the air, catching it skilfully in one hand.

"I'm not a chef," he laughed. "I washed what you had and put it in a bowl. As soon as we have finished eating, I'm taking you to the grocery store. Your kitchen makes Old Mother Hubbard look overstocked."

She pushed him playfully towards the kitchen, smiling widely behind his back. For all his teasing, she felt comfortably at home in his presence. It was a feeling she was unfamiliar with, one that quite often frightened her.

"For your information," she defended, "I was planning to restock first thing tomorrow morning."

Leon chuckled. Of course he didn't believe her; he knew better. The many times he had visited her before her relocation to Alexandria, he had not failed to notice - or mock - the empty cupboards and pizza menu on the door of her refrigerator.

He reached for her hands as soon as the tomato was place on the bench, hers so smooth compared to his weathered skin. He smiled at her behind glazed eyes, dipping down for a kiss in her moment of distraction. Her hands, as always, found his chest with the intention to reject his advance. But she always settled into the affection, greedily taking more than he offered. This time was no different. Thoughts rushed from her mind as she melted against him, his kiss felt through her entire body. Why did she protest? She knew damn well that she wanted this, that she loved him despite her hesitation. Nothing felt as perfect as the sensual touch of his lips on hers, caressing away her troubles and elevating her into a perpetual state of bliss.

And then there was the crash, the moment they parted.

"Do you mind if I stay tonight?" he whispered, voice heavy with desire as his lips lingered millimetres from hers. "I had hoped...that we could..."

Though the backs of his fingers softly stroked her cheek, willing her into submission, she felt that familiar chill spread through every nerve, until she retreated in unexplained fear.

"You can stay," she agreed. "But...Leon, I don't want to rush things. Let's just take it slow."

The expected sigh followed on cue, but he accepted her words. She must have spoken them a thousand times, and his reaction was always the same; disappointed...perhaps even hurt.

So she kissed him, and it was enough to ease his troubles and bring a smile back to his lips. Because she was enough, as was he.

She only wished that she knew how long it could remain that way.

* * *

**_June 14, 2009. 7:34pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

She could have been asleep when he stepped into her room. So peaceful, so serene. Her blonde hair rested against her shoulders, damp and curled. But he knew better than to believe appearances. She could not have been so at ease, not now.

Pink eyelids fluttered open as he approached, the steady beep of the heart rate monitor all that broke the heavy silence. She spoke not a word as he made his way towards her, opting to remain standing at the side of her bed. The doctors had left her propped up against pillows, and she barely had to elevate her arm to reach for his hand.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly. Her hand was cold, skin paler than usual in comparison to his deep tan. She looked ill, and his heart bled from the mere sight of her complexion against pale blue sheets.

"Weak," she whispered, her feeble grip on his digits proving her point. It was to be expected; though she had not lost enough blood to warrant a transfusion, the doctor had explained that she had lost enough to feel the effects. "They want to keep me in overnight...just in case."

The smile that she offered with her words was hopeful, her gaze loving as their eyes locked. Was she even aware of what had transpired? He felt that he should ask, but the thought alone seared fear painfully into the lining of his brain. It took all of his strength to remain composed before her; inside he was a wreck.

"They..." she breathed, worry now settling into her expression. "They said I lost the baby."

Somehow, her voice gave an even sharper edge to the words, and he felt his feigned strength falter beneath the incision.

"But...that's not true," she told him, voice quaking as her expression turned now to a plea, to a demand for some good news at least. "That's...that's not true, is it?"

His silence should have been enough, but she clung stubbornly to that phantom hope.

"Please," she begged as she sensed the truth behind his hesitation. "Please tell me...Chris..."

There was nothing he could say; any reassurance he could give would be a cruel lie. But somehow, she sensed his unspoken response. When the tears came, they came thick and fast, and Chris found his way to the head of the bed, perching on the edge as he took her into his arms. Trembling hands clutched his shirt, tears soaking through the thin cotton. Her sobs were silent, but her entire body shook violently.

Where were the words? Where were the assurances he knew he should have been giving? It was going to be okay? He could not say that...it could very well be a false truth.

She felt so fragile in his arms, but even he felt not an iota of strength in that moment. His skin was all that kept the truth hidden, every nerve malfunctioning, every breath drawn with the greatest of efforts. He had lost a child, no matter how he twisted the events. Something that had brought them so much joy now threatened to tear them down, to stomp their ashes into mud and run laughing into the rain.

_He found her in the bedroom, slowly folding her purchases to place into the spare areas of his drawers. They were going to need a bigger apartment; he had not rented this place with two people in mind. He did not announce his presence, just waited in the doorway, smiling widely from cheek to cheek._

_It did not matter what she did; every action was a Godsend to him. She was truly here; in the flesh...she was back! He longed to reach for her, to stroke the smooth, creamy skin of her shoulder, to press kisses to her neck and pull her back onto the bed, to make love to her again, savouring every moment as he had failed to do before her departure._

_But he was content simply watching her, knowing that she was safe._

_Something was pulled from the drawer, something small and familiar. She questioned it with her eyes, turning it over in her hands. Then, it dawned on him._

_With quick steps, he was at her side, plucking the object from her hands. She was not meant to see this, not yet!_

_"Hello?" she questioned, hand clutching air. "What- What are you doing? What is that?"_

_Strangely enough, he did not push the offending item into his pocket where it would be safe from her curious eyes. Intrigue had gotten the better of her, even more so now that he had leapt defensively to the aid of the small velvet box._

_"Chris..." she warned._

_But his resolve was absolute and he refused to relinquish the box as she made a quick swipe for it. It was too early, he knew that now. Though she professed to feeling 'alright', he knew that her captivity lingered, driving her psyche to depths from which surfacing was difficult. She had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, had been ordered to attend counselling sessions and take a regular dose of anti-anxiety medication; in his books, that was not 'alright'. She needed stability. So much had changed, and he did not wish to add to that burden._

_"It's nothing," he lied._

_"No," she hummed. "You're definitely hiding something. You should know that is only going to make me more intrigued. Now hand it over!"_

_He dodged as she made a leap for it, and instead caught her as she fell. There was something about the new tone of her hair that brought out the colour of her eyes. Not one shade, but several, each serving to enhance the overall impression, long lashes framing the splendour. One look and he was lost._

_'You idiot,' he scolded himself. 'Just do it...show her how you feel, how much she means to you. Show her, before it's too late.'_

_And without consciously allowing for the action, he handed over the box and she took it from him, grin firmly in place._

_"I remember talking about buying a new pair of earrings," she laughed, so sure of what she would find. "But you really-"_

_It was not earrings that lay in the box. It was nothing he could have bought; it was older even than him. In a letter left to him in her will, Katherine Redfield had been sure to inform her son that the ring was only on loan; it belonged to a girl, and when he met that girl he was to give it to her and to tell her all that was in his heart, and to never let her go. He would give the ring to a girl who made him happier than anything in this world ever had, and she could not tell him who she was; he would know her when he found her. Somehow, he had known in his heart that Jill was that girl the moment their lips had first touched. He was simply passing on what was rightfully hers._

_"Chris..." she breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from the box in her hands. "It's...it's beautiful."_

_"It's yours," he told her. "It always has been, I...I should have given it to you a long time ago."_

_And she was speechless, lips parted as she continued to gaze upon the diamond ring. Did she understand the meaning of this gesture? His hands moved to cover hers, pulling them toward the ground as he lowered himself slowly to one knee._

_"I love you, Jill Valentine," he exhaled, her eyes drawn to his with a startled gasp. "And believe me, I had a far more romantic scenario than this in mind. But, when it comes down to it, none of that matters. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you; whatever way you dress it, that's the truth. I would gladly go through the last ten years of hell again if it meant spending just one day with you. Because you mean that much to me, Jill, and I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you."_

_He knew that she could sense what was coming; how could she not? His hands were shaking as they clasped hers, breath hitching as his bravery faltered._

_'After all you've been through, _this_ frightens you?'_

_"Jill...will you marry me?"_

_She did not answer immediately. Or perhaps she did, and time had become distorted in his mind. Whatever it was, the wait was agonising, and for the most fleeting of moments, the worst case scenario resounded in his thoughts. How would he cope with a response to the negative?_

_Truthfully, it did not matter what her answer would be; he would continue to be there for her, in whatever capacity she needed him. But he wanted nothing more than to marry her, to spend the rest of his life loving her and to let the whole world know just how much she meant to him. _

_"Yes," she whispered, smile tearing across her words. "Yes! I will."_

_And she threw her arms around his neck as he rose, stunned as her words were slowly absorbed. Yes!_

_His hands trembled as he carefully slid the ring onto her finger, seeking her lips with his a moment later. She folded into his arms, greedily lapping up the affection that he offered. The kiss ended only when she stretched out her left arm, gazing upon her new accessory. But his lips continued their ministrations, kissing along her cheekbone and up to her temple. The contact was blissful, the scent of her sweet and soothing._

_"What took you so long?" she whispered through her endless smile._

The light caught the diamond at her finger and he instinctively reached for her hand, taking it into his and squeezing it tightly. He had been reluctant to propose at first, though had originally set his mind on popping the questions should Leon's intelligence be correct and she was found alive. But when they arrived back to the headquarters of the BSAA West Africa division, everything had changed. It became clear that her ordeal had left scars that extended beyond the physical, and he knew that he could not be so selfish as to claim her as his, not after spending so long as the possession of another. Their relationship may not have picked up so quickly had she not been the one to ask what had changed between them. On both accounts, he had been wrong; she needed him as more than a friend, and she was not so vulnerable that a proposal would push her back several steps. When it came to it, she needed to know that she had not lost all that she had cherished, that her old life was there, just waiting for her to step back into the frame.

"It's okay," he whispered, though he was not entirely sure of this himself. It sure as hell did not feel okay. "We're going to make it through this, I promise. This isn't the end."

But how could he know for sure? The obstetrician had claimed that he would be unsure what exactly had caused the miscarriage and resultant haemorrhaging until blood results came back, which could take days. But he had suspected that it was the lingering chemicals in her system. A child would not endanger her, but now her body was not equipped to support growing life. What if that was the way it would always be? What if her system was never clean?

'Don't think that way,' he urged himself. 'She just needs time to recover. She'll be alright.'

"D-Don't go," she begged, face buried into his chest. "Please stay...I don't want to be alone."

He knew that he may not have any say in the matter, but assured her that he was not going anywhere. If he had to put up a fight, then so be it; if she needed him here, then nothing could tear him away.

Gently, he laid her back onto the pillows, drawing his legs up onto the bed. There was barely enough room for his large frame to fit alongside her slender body, but he succeeded in balancing next to her on the mattress. As though to reinforce her previous demand, she extended her left arm across his torso as her sobs devolved into quiet snuffles.

Her eyes remained open as her breaths grew quiet once again; reluctant to submit to sleep that Chris knew she needed.

"I'm sorry."

The whispered apology was uncalled for, and he was sure to let her go. This was not her fault, not by a long shot. But she clung to the idea, reiterating her point until he descended into silence for fear of raising his voice. What setbacks would this add to her recovery?

When it came down to it, he knew that it was something he could not control, something that was beyond his capacity to help. Now, it was up to her.

* * *

**_June 14, 2009. 8:30pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Sometimes, Rebecca wondered why she did not simply set up a mattress on the floor of the lab. Most of her waking hours were spent before her work; her apartment was slowly becoming a waste of money. But the hospital had always been her home, through the underground years and even more so during the early years of the BSAA.

They had invited her to join their ranks on multiple occasions, but she had refused. If the years had taught her anything, it was that her initial dream of a career in medicine was one with staying power. Her existing experience had reduced the length of internship and the following residency program had been a breeze. While she was not quite head of department yet, she enjoyed her place on the Clinical Pathology team, and the research she carried out on the side was an added bonus. In many ways, the BSAA had still succeeded in snaring her; the majority of her research these days was done on commission. But she did not complain. After all, her interests lay in the same area and she was never short of funding.

She heard the footsteps echoing down the hallway, on time as always.

"Have you seen the news today?" Connolly asked as he entered the lap, waving a broadsheet in one hand.

Rebecca smiled in greeting, grateful once again for the company. Matthew Connolly had initially been a friend of Chris's, though had retired from service within the BSAA citing 'personal reasons'. Their friendship had begun on the first mission handed to the BSAA, back when it was little more than a small unit. Assigned many of the same missions as Chris and Jill, they soon grew close. Until, of course, the mission that had changed everyone involved. He had assisted in the search for Jill and Wesker himself, handing in his resignation on return to the States. He had continued service for the BSAA in a base-oriented capacity, treating those who returned injured and assisting in their rehabilitation. It was in this role that they had grown close; as it transpired, their research interests lay in similar areas, if not in differing fields.

"I stopped paying attention to the news years ago," she laughed. "Why?"

Connolly dropped the newspaper on top of the box she had only just sealed, and her gaze dropped automatically to the headline.

**TRICELL ACQUITTED: BLAME FALLS UPON GIONNE LEGACY**

"Oh, hell no," she protested, raising the article as she read.

_A high court judge has thrown out the case against the shamed Tricell Pharmaceutical Company. In the wake of the dissolution of the Umbrella Corporation six years ago, the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium has in recent months been reeling from accusations of illegal activity and the continuation of Umbrella's bloody legacy by one of their most prominent members._

_In March of this year, a BSAA-led operation within the Kijuju Autonomous Zone uncovered numerous human rights violations and links to the dark underworld of bioterrorism in connection with Tricell's African Division. Seasoned BSAA agent Jill Valentine, who was presumed dead over two years previously, was discovered alive, enslaved by a new technology in development under Tricell's African Division CEO Excella Gionne under the lead of terrorist leader Albert Wesker, also previously assumed deceased._

_In a March issue, we reported on the discovery of a new strain of virus, designated 'Uroboros', which was designed in line with a doomsday plan. It was only through the actions of BSAA North America agent Christopher Redfield - Agent Valentine's former partner - alongside BSAA West Africa agents Sheva Alomar and Captain Josh Stone, with assistance from Agent Valentine herself, that a potential worldwide disaster was averted._

_"After the dissolution of Umbrella, it was expected that others would attempt to follow in their footsteps," Agent Redfield announced at a March press conference. "These events should stand as a warning to those who believe they will not be brought to justice."_

_But justice, it seems, is selective in its actions. With little evidence to connect the actions of Excella Gionne and researcher Ricardo Irving to the larger company, the High Court was left with no choice but to throw out the lawsuit brought against them by the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium in connection with the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance._

_Tricell released the following in a press statement: "Tricell would like to express its gratitude towards the High Court and Judge Rubina Sanchez for their fair and honest ruling. The actions of Excella Gionne were deplorable, and have no connection whatsoever to our otherwise reputable company. Although we have been denied involvement in the development of a potential cure for the viruses created by Umbrella and Albert Wesker, we continue to dedicate a large portion of our research to preventative measures against bioterrorism and offer the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium and the BSAA our full, unwavering support."_

_Story continued on page 2..._

"Are they serious?" Rebecca demanded. "People are actually buying their bull?"

Connolly shrugged and leaned onto a stool next to her work station.

"This could still be the end for them," he reminded her. "Whether or not Umbrella lost their case, they were still doomed. Consumer support had decreased to the point where recovery was impossible. Tricell could fold beneath the impact of this."

Though she wanted to believe his words, she could not. She had lived through years of damage inflicted by power-hungry corporations. Tricell were stronger than Umbrella, they had learned from their mistakes. Though she believed that Excella had worked independently of the North American arm of the company, she knew that the tree was as rotten as the apple. There was simply no way she could have financed her research through the sale of bioweapons alone; the money had to have come from somewhere.

"How is Jill handling this?" she asked. But Connolly shrugged, yawning into a closed fist.

"No idea," he sighed. "I haven't spoken to her in a couple of weeks. I've...been a little busy."

And Rebecca smiled, laying the newspaper aside and forgetting the box she had previously attended to.

"Did you bring photos this time?"

Connolly smiled as he dug into the pocket of his jacket. He was as forgetful as she some days, but she was pleased that he had finally remembered. He slid the photograph across the smooth work surface, and she took it carefully into her hands, holding the edges despite the already-smudged appearance.

There was little doubt that the peaceful face was that of his daughter; they possessed the same shaped eyes, the same hair, even the same chin.

"She's beautiful!" Rebecca congratulated, unable to cease from cooing over the infant. Multiple failed relationships and a seemingly irreversible single lifestyle had not deterred her from aspirations of children of her own. It was a natural reaction for a female in her position to coo.

"We settled on Mia," he smiled. "Well, her birth certificate says 'Amelia', but nobody has called her that yet."

Somehow, she could not tear her eyes away from the photograph.

"So, how did your date go?"

Reluctantly, he now had her full attention.

"Don't ask," she groaned as she returned the photograph. "I would have climbed out of the bathroom window, but they didn't open far enough."

Connolly laughed, and she knew what he was thinking. Perhaps with his own best interests in mind, he remained silent and simply smiled at her, shaking his head lightly from side to side. She knew all that he could have spoken, and knew deep down that he was right; some part of the reason for her single status must have lain in her own behaviour. She could not have been unlucky enough to pick only the men with whom she was completely incompatible.

"You'll find someone," he reassured her, placing a large hand atop hers.

"Okay," she smirked, rolling her eyes. She had work to attend to, and he was only distracting her.

"So am I still driving you home or what?"

She assured him that he was, and set about packing up the boxes she had sealed and labelled, and once again flicked through the samples in the tray to her left.

"Please tell me that's not for the BSAA," Connolly groaned.

"It's for the GPC too," she defended. "I swear, I have enough of Jill's blood here to power years of research."

The key to a cure lay within her antibodies, and although she had essentially developed a safe vaccine, the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium were pushing her to run every test imaginable on the finished product, and then run them a few more times for good measure. If they passed the last round as they had the previous, the vaccine would be in circulation within a matter of weeks.

The research was groundbreaking, and she knew that it would propel her perhaps into award-winning territory. Isolating the antibodies had been no easy feat; judging by the data obtained from the African facility, even Wesker had experienced difficulties in the isolation process. For years, she had been attempting to develop a cure, and three months ago it had essentially landed in her lap. More samples had been obtained than were needed, but Jill had been more than willing to supply. Her exact words were "Take as much as you need, just leave a little for me to get by". It seemed that she wished to turn a bad situation into something helpful and productive. Only time would heal her wounds, and she realised that if some good could come out of her experience then she would do everything in her power to encourage it.

The implications for research were beyond what she could have imagined; the defence system that Jill's body had built against the virus was unique and unprecedented. It was entirely possible in Rebecca's mind that she could apply her findings to the search for a cure to many other problematic viruses that brought tragedy to families worldwide.

But the most interesting findings had not related to her unique antibodies or to the chemicals she had been exposed to. Though her body continued to purge itself of P30, something else had caught her attention. Something that had led her to refusing any further samples. There was enough hCG in Jill's blood to make her certain of one thing; her friend was expecting a child.

She could not conceal the smile that crept to her features as she filed away the remaining samples. Jill had confided in her that as long as the virus remained in her system, she would be unable to have children of her own. She had approached the more knowledgeable pathologist, desperate for a solution. It was mere weeks before her disappearance, and the excitement of the impending mission had brought her to consider life without Spencer and Wesker; a life in which she wanted a family with Chris. Or, more importantly to her, a life in which she wanted Chris to have a family. Her offers of being a human guinea pig for the trial of a possible anti-virus had been rebuffed, and it broke Rebecca's heart to inform her that while her ovum could be tested, it was entirely possible that the T-virus was present even in these cells. Both women knew that Chris would not go for partial surrogacy.

But now, she had it all. She was engaged to the man she loved, and she carried his child. It was obvious that she was aware; in the past two months the couple had been sickeningly smug, with no explanation for their sudden, blissful smiles.

'I wish she would come clean,' Rebecca sighed. She was a patient woman, but she had almost driven herself crazy with secrecy. She wanted to share in this, but knew that Jill would derive so much happiness from announcing the news herself. She did not wish to rob her of that moment.

"Okay, I'm all set," she announced as she removed her lab coat, leaving her thoughts behind before they got the better of her.

Connolly led the way out of the department, the hospital relatively quiet for this time of night. Rebecca loved night such as these; quiet within the walls of a hospital meant that there were more people on the outside.

"By the way," Connolly smirked as they approached the main reception. "You're babysitting Mia next Saturday. No complaints."

But she had none in mind. Children had always been a soft spot to her, and she owed him a lot for the times he had come through for her. She knew never to leave her friends hanging. Because, in the end, they were all that mattered.

And that was true now more than ever.

* * *

**AN** - First of all, I would like to say a huge hello and thank you to everyone who has read this ^_^. As some of you may know, this is the concluding part in the trilogy that began with Strength Through Wounding. With regards to the story, you do not need to have read either that or Blindside, though there will be a few returning OCs.

This will likely be the last angst-themed story I post. Most of what I have posted so far has featured angst in some respect, so I want to try something else next ^_^. This story has many genres, and I chose romance and drama because they are the two that are pretty much constant throughout the entire story. There will be angst, action, friendship/family and also suspense, and there will be lighthearted parts as well as a love triangle.  
The title of this story comes from a painting by Vincent Van Gogh - the last work he completed before his death.

The story basically follows the survivors after the events of Resident Evil 5; everything from what happens to them, to what happens to Tricell. The story is in three parts, each addressing something different, and the first part is the idea that The Demon in My Shadow came from. Relationship-wise, the story follows Chris/Jill and Leon/Claire, with Rebecca getting a little action later on. This is pretty much the amalgamation of several ideas, and I have taken into account all of the feedback from Only Through the Pain and Strength Through Wounding. Hopefully, this will improve on those and you will all enjoy it just as much.

This is quite possibly the biggest project I've taken on in terms of fan fiction, and it would mean a lot to me if you could leave your thoughts. I don't mind constructive criticism, but please don't flame pointlessly. I don't claim to never make mistakes, but when I do I like to know how I can make things better.

Disclaimer: If you recognise it, I don't own it. Resident Evil and all affiliated characters/locations/creatures belong to Capcom. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and no copyright infringement is intended.


	2. Hollow

**AN** - I just want to say a _huge_ thank you to everyone who reviewed the prologue - _Razial, Valentine Virus, Claire Redfield 86, Kenshin13, xSummonerYunax, Ninja-Gnome, tek, Biohazardous Fears, Lemon Turkey_ and _Black Metalmark_. Starting a new story is always a little nerve-wracking so I truly appreciate the support! One thing I also have to say is that I didn't actually realise how much flashbacks played into the beginning of the story until I write this chapter ^_^. The flashbacks are pretty much bridging the gap between Blindside and RE5 and this story, so there will not be as much disturbance in later chapters. As per the rating...it may rise to M within the next couple of chapters just to be safe.

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Part One - Strangers_**

**_Chapter One_**_ - Hollow_

_'Being prepared for loss is never the same as being ready for it.'_  
~Randy K. Milholland~

**_June 21, 2009. 10:28am. Arlington, VA._**

There were too many people about that day, too many sounds swirling around her. The cacophony of voices was deafening, though there were relatively few people in the vicinity of the mall. The strap of her purse clutched firmly in one hand, Jill stepped around the patrolling security guards, shoulders hunched defensively. She did not want to be here, it was as simple as that.

But this was a mess she had gotten herself into, and it was not something she could ignore.

_'Stop wasting time,' she told herself. 'Just swing your legs over the end of the mattress and we're good to go.'_

_But action was easier theorised than executed, and not even her eyelids showed a hint of movement. The effort simply did not seem worth the energy that would be expended. The sheets were soft and clean, the bed comfortable and warm. There was nothing outside the cocoon she appeared to have created in her sleep that appealed to her in the slightest._

_She did not know how long Chris had been gone, but she could tell by the simple fact that she remained peacefully in bed that he had not yet returned._

_Or perhaps he had simply stopped caring?_

_In one quick movement she pushed herself upright, the conditioned air of the bedroom soothing overheated skin. The world righted itself several seconds later, stomach twirling violently. She blamed it on the antibiotics she had been prescribed, so sure that they did not mix well with the anti-anxiety medication. But the doctors had pushed the prescription upon her, warning that they were a mere precaution against the slim possibility of infection following what they referred to in her notes as a 'spontaneous medical abortion'. As the cause had yet to be identified at the time, they had prescribed the damn things 'just in case'. All it took to encourage obedience was the suggestion that, should an infection arise, it may significantly harm her chances of conceiving in the future._

_"For all the good that would do," she hummed to herself._

_It was the P30, they knew that now, yet they were sure to advise her to finish the course. Somehow, the thorough and often painful natural detox her body had undergone in a BSAA-run hospital in Dakar had not been enough to purge the chemical from her system. Though her body had metabolised it at an exponential rate, traces still lingered, left behind to be flushed out of her system with other waste chemicals. It was a side-effect of being exposed for so long, they had told her. Though the levels were steadily decreasing, and as of yesterday were at almost undetectable levels, her body continued to be determined in its pursuit of a healthy state; it simply could not spare the resources to supply a developing foetus with all it needed to survive and to grow into a healthy child. They could not even give her a timeframe for successful conception; this was new to them, and for all they knew there could be a base level of P30 in her system for the rest of her life. Or at least until menopause, by which time a family would be an impossible dream._

_Even now, safe and sound in the home she shared with Chris, she could still feel Wesker's haunting presence, destroying every last chance of happiness that she had left._

_She cast the bed sheets aside when she rose to her feet, unsteady legs carrying her to the ensuite bathroom. Should she shower or run a bath? Perhaps she should forgo the wash altogether and slip into her comfortable robe? Each and every choice floated through her mind, the ability to select just one outcome proving impossible. For every cloud that she reached towards, another would appear, and then a phantom breeze would carry them far away, unravelling their structure until fog seeped into her skin, chilling her uncomfortably._

_"Fuck this," she fumed, marching towards the towel cupboard._

_'Are you going to sit around with your greasy hair all day? Where did your self-respect go? What happened to pride?'_

_But pride, self-respect, and every other trait that had once defined her floated away as she reached to the back of the cupboard, fingertips brushing against smooth paper. Curious, she stood on her toes, coaxing the rectangular object into a position that allowed her to adequately grip its bulk._

_Sparkling green paper disguised what felt to be a heavy book, or at least a small box. She could vaguely remember tying the silver ribbon herself, though the contents of the parcel eluded her. Even the script on the tag was hers, neatly printed in black ink._

**_Chris,_**

**_This one is from the heart.  
Happy birthday!_**

**_Love you always,  
J_**

_With the package secure in her hand, she dashed for the bedroom, dropping it onto the bed sheets as she reached for her cell phone._

_"June twenty-first," she gasped. The days had run together, darkness blending into her routine; had it truly been a week since her miscarriage?_

_As it appeared, that was the case. One whole week, lost forever, and Chris's birthday... How could she forget?_

_"Fuck!" she cried, shakes coming to her hands. Why didn't he say anything?_

_The weeks since her return had not been the peace she had hoped for. Some days were easier than others, but ultimately she knew that while her body had emerged intact, her mind was not so lucky. But Chris...he had been there, every step of the way. Somehow, things seemed a little less bleak when he was at her side, and she had truly believed every assurance that he offered. His patience was saint-like, his tolerance at an unimaginable height. It would have been so easy for him to cut loose and run, but he remained, and he loved her regardless of all that she had done..._

_...and this was how she repaid him._

The present should have been enough, but of course it would not be. After everything that had happened, how could it be?

Though her initial idea for his birthday surprise had been to treat him to a meal at a restaurant of his choice, he had told her not to plan so big, and that all he wanted was to end the day curled up in front of the television with her. The older he got, the less fuss he seemed to want to make. But she could not let it pass uneventful, and when he had expressed his preference for a home cooked meal over restaurant food, she knew that she had to go all out. His favourite food, a chilled case of his favourite beer, and maybe a little candlelight to set the mood.

Alas, it had never come to pass. She had decided to purchase the meat at the last possible opportunity for the sake of freshness, and so her plans had remained forgotten through the hurricane that had been the past week.

She knew of a gourmet food store in the local mall that sold all she would need. A stopover in Osaka between assignments several years earlier had first introduced Chris to his favourite indulgence; Kobe beef. The price was near extortionate given the high import fees, but the bank had finally come through and released the large sum of money she had left to Chris in her will. From penniless to semi-rich in a matter of days, she felt it was a dangerous place to be when she had yet to fully reacquaint herself with the value of money.

'You'll only cook it wrong,' sneered a voice in the back of her mind. 'You'll ruin it and then what will you do? He's going to leave you; this is all pointless and a ridiculous waste of money.'

Attempts to quiet the voice proved futile. If misery had been her company lately, then those rogue thoughts were a third wheel.

But their venom was two parts truth; he _was_ going to leave her. How could he stay? He could barely even look at her anymore. She had lost his child, had forgotten his first birthday since their reunion. And she thought a present and expensive steak would make everything better?

Some wounds bled through the dressing, and this was one of them.

'He's going to leave you.'

Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks, diving into her handbag for her cell. Perhaps a friendly voice would drown out the beast that roared within. The serpentine hiss of its degrading comments was becoming too much to bear.

But her eyes caught a familiar sight when she glanced up as a fellow shopper brushed past her. The reflection in the glass was a sorry picture; unkempt hair, pale complexion...that awful wound. There had been no clean T-shirts in the drawers large enough to cover it up, and red skin glistened visibly in the light. Passers-by stared; she could feel their eyes boring into her skin. It was unwanted attention, and no matter how forcefully she tugged at her jacket, it provided no coverage.

'Why are you wearing a jacket? It's warm out, and you know it.'

Shooting obscenities back into her mind, she pulled an arm across her chest. It did not matter what she wore; at home she would often laze around in one of Chris's T-shirts. The comfort they provided was more than satisfying, and they were large enough to cover the scars and shapeless enough to disguise everything else. From the blonde hair to her pale skin, she hated all that she had become. Once confident in her own body, she now made love on the condition that the room was steeped in darkness. It was not her choice to look like this, but it sure as hell was her choice to not be seen like this. After two years with no privacy, she now cherished the choices that she had. This body was no good, and recent events only proved that.

As her eyes adjusted to the light shining through the opposite side of the store window, her heart skipped a beat, shuddered through another and then made a brave attempt to flee through her oesophagus. She knew this place, had stepped through those doors but a fortnight ago.

The mother and baby store had once been a source of great joy, but now...

The emptiness in her womb had never been so glaringly obvious. It felt as though a part of her had left with that tiny body, a hole punched right through her soul.

Couples milled around the displays, baskets full to the brim with promises. Not long ago, that had been her.

The numbness that had taken root in her abdomen spread, until waves of nausea sloshed about in her stomach, lungs burned painfully and her heart beat furiously against her ribcage. And she ran, as fast as her legs could carry her. The encroaching sensation of tears was too much; she could not cry in public!

The restroom door clattered shut behind her, purse falling into the bowl of the sink she grasped so tightly her knuckles switched to a cruel shade of white. The pressure in her skull was unbearable, and the tears that streamed down her cheeks were acid.

What would it cost to take it all back, all of those peaceful moments? Each one had been a vicious lie, a riddle designed only to torment her. After so many years of believing that she would never had children of her own, that positive indication on a test she took on a whim was heaven in itself. She had seen the shape against the noise, had heard the baby's heartbeat with her own ears. The doctor had the audacity to claim that the child was still relatively unformed, as though it had not existed, had not been _real_ to her. She had even begun to show, despite how small that change had been.

It was not _fair_.

Her relationship with Chris had suffered beneath the impact of the sudden blow; she knew that he blamed her. She was losing him, and it was becoming painfully obvious. A forgotten birthday could be the final nail in the coffin, perhaps even in hers. Without him, she did not know where she stood.

She did not even know who she was anymore; that girl in the mirror was not Jill Valentine. Where was the strength that Chris had professed to love? The brunette hair he would always run his fingers through? What had happened to the skin he often admired? There was nothing left of the woman he loved, and it was only a matter of time before it became evident to him.

_"Jill."_

Her right hand slipped against the sink as she spun around, reaching defensively for her purse. The voice had been distinctively male, yet she stood alone in a female restroom. Each cubicle door lay open, and only emptiness existed within. She had heard this voice before, but the origin eluded her.

Tears dried on her cheeks, eyes and ears alert. She was imagining things, she had to be...

But she remained in silence for several long minutes, listening intently for the source of her terror.

Nothing.

'You're going insane, Valentine.'

* * *

**_June 21, 2009. 12:00pm. 19 Meadow Hills Apartments. Arlington, VA._**

It was only on the third attempt that Claire succeeded in pressing the correct button. After a dose of verbal abuse from an irate old lady, she was relieved when Rebecca's voice finally called out through the intercom.

"Who is it?" she chirped.

"It's Claire...I need to talk to you, can I come up?"

Without answering, the familiar buzz rang out and she pulled on the heavy door, nodding to the concierge as she stepped inside. Through all her visits to Arlington, she had yet to visit Rebecca's apartment, to her own embarrassment and shame. Not long after she had relocated, Chris had returned with Jill in tow and her priorities, as always, lay with family.

It was a well-kempt building, that much was obvious. It was a five star abode in comparison to her own homely little block. But Rebecca pulled in so much more than she did these days. Her salary was almost double, and the BSAA paid a hefty commission for the frequent work they sent her way.

Was she jealous? Oh no. If anything, it was the location of her employment and residence that stirred envy within. It had taken all the strings she could pull to secure a transfer to Virginia, though finding an apartment within her price range in Arlington was easier said than done. With Leon in DC, it only added to the issue of distance.

Rebecca greeted her with suspicion at the door of her apartment.

"I assume Chris is out?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I called him and there was no answer," Claire sighed, not even creating pretence. She knew that Rebecca did not mind.

"And Jill?"

"Same number."

Of course, Jill had a cell phone now but she was always reluctant to call when she knew it would not be Chris who answered. The simple fact was that she simply did not know how to talk to her these days. In many respects, her old friend now felt as a stranger.

'You know that's not fair,' she had told herself on many occasions. 'She went through hell, and she needs all the support she can get.'

But how to address a ghost? She remained hidden away with Chris for the most part, attempting to adjust to a society that had changed so much in the two and a half years she had been gone. It did not matter if the prospect a simple conversation with her future sister-in-law terrified Claire; this was not about her.

Yet still, she remained unsure how to approach her.

"I think they may be ignoring us," Rebecca chuckled as she poured them both a cup of chilled lemonade - perfect for a hot summer's day. "But I really don't blame them for wanting to spend time with one another after all that happened. It's just good to have them back...both of them."

Claire hummed in agreement as she accepted the cool glass.

In the months following Jill's supposed death, Chris had been despondent, depression claiming everything that she had so loved in her brother. It often frightened her, what he had become, but she had fought bitterly to help him through that difficult time. After all, it had been he who had helped her in the wake of the accident that had claimed the life of their parents. She was ten years old; she had never even _conceived_ the idea that her parents may one day be gone. If it weren't for Chris's patience and guiding hand, she knew that she would have fallen into a dark place. And so it frustrated her that she could not do the same for Chris. There was simply no getting through to him.

Then came the day he had decided to return to action, and had taken off for Asia without so much as a farewell, leaving her to face the grief that she had been sheltering for his sake.

'And that was where Leon came in...'

"Have you spoken to him lately?" Rebecca asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

"Who?" she muttered, blushing as she realised that she had once again drifted off into a daydream.

"Chris," Rebecca laughed. "Though my next question would be about Leon...but I think I already have my answer.

Claire sneered in her general direction, not amused in the slightest.

"Seriously, have you spoken to Chris? Or...even Jill?"

There was something in her tone that caught Claire's attention, and she set aside her lemonade to devote every last sliver of attention to her words. It seemed to her that the younger girl was hiding something, and that knowing smirk did nothing to dispel her suspicion.

"Not in a few days," she admitted, dragging her words out. "Why?"

Rebecca chewed on the end of her straw, false innocence falling into her eyes.

"Oh, no reason," she sighed wistfully. "I was just wondering how they were doing."

But Claire did not believe a word. Rebecca was a terrible liar, even worse than Chris.

"To be honest, he was a little out of it," she added without prompt, hoping to coax further information from the girl. "He...kept talking about the most trivial things. Usually when I call him, he's in a rush to hang up."

She did not want to even begin to launch an attempt at understanding him, not now. He had issues of his own that she truly did not wish to be dragged into. For someone with the awful habit to say the wrong things at the wrong time, her input on the whole rehabilitation scenario was the last thing that either Chris or Jill needed right now. It was not that she did not wish to help - that was far from the truth - but more that she simply did not know how to try without exacerbating things. A casual conversation with Jill on the day she returned to the States had resulted in her accidentally dropping the W-bomb. As fear flashed across the unsettled blonde's features, Claire had thrown a million apologies her way, which had only made things worse. Never before had she been required to think about what she said in front of her; it was quite often Jill who would casually drop a line into the conversation that would have everyone choking on their drinks.

"What about Leon?"

What about him? She still did not know how to define their relationship. It was clear in her heart that she loved him, but somewhere on the journey to her brain, that connection was lost. In her mind, love had always been the ultimate emotion...it was always enough. In reality, it transpired that nothing could be farther from the truth.

He rarely spoke of Ada these days, but she knew that she still held a place in his thoughts. Though he had never clarified just what his relationship with her had been, she knew that feelings had run deep. What if he had loved her? Was she the second choice, the one he settled for?

"Things are...strained," she sighed. Because it was the truth. Her insecurities may not have pushed him to the point of leaving, but they would soon.

"He truly cares about you, you know?" Rebecca told her with a smile.

She knew. Oh did she ever know.

* * *

**_June 21, 2009. 1:10pm. 504 Tower View Apartments. Washington, D.C._**

"Hey, it's Claire. I'm not busy; I just don't want to talk to you right now. Kidding! Leave a message."

Leon frowned at the recording, having begged her to change it on multiple occasions. But he would not lie; he found her childish playfulness endearing...amongst so many other things.

"Hey babe, it's me," he laughed into the receiver. "Just to let you know that the table is booked for seven tonight, so I'll be there to pick you up at half six; I know how you're always running around at the last minute. I...can't wait to see you."

The disappointment when her voicemail message answered evaporated as he thought to that evening with a smile. It was strange how his smile was different these days; he was sure that it was all down to her. There was just something about her that made him feel so _alive_. Her energy was pure, and it was contagious. She could have him eating out of the palm of her hand if she so desired, but he was sure to keep this from her.

There had been other women over the years...but nothing had ever come close to that one illicit kiss they had shared.

'You're whipped,' he reminded himself. But so what if he was? He was finally happy, after all these years. Didn't he deserve that? Didn't they all?

His apartment was empty, as usual, leaving him free to meander over to the sofa, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table as he flicked through the day's mail. There was not much that came his way these days, save for bills and birthday cards from those who remembered. Sometimes his apartment seemed to him like a vacuum of society; minimal decoration, sparsely-stocked cupboards with little to no personal effects on display in the less than homely living area. For years, he had been frequently on the road, now...now he spent most of his days in Alexandria.

It was a lonely life, but not one he was in a position to complain about.

The letter that caught his eye was not startlingly out of the ordinary, though the lack of an official stamp and pre-printed address was enough to draw his attention. It was not often that he received hand-written letters, his relatives favouring email over the traditional. It was not often that he received anything personal at all. So he placed his feet firmly against the carpet, leaning forward to tear at the paper as the remaining mail was cast aside.

The letter within was casually scrawled on several sheets of A6, evidently pulled carelessly from a notepad. There was a familiar scent upon the leaves; sweet and perfumed, like springtime and cherry blossom.

_Dear Leon,_

_I offer no information this time. My words are purely personal._

The paper fell from his hands as he recoiled, landing carelessly at his feet. He knew that handwriting, knew the familiar way its owner curved their script..._her_ script.

'Ada?'

_For once, her arrival had come before his. No waiting, no wondering if she would show._

_"You wanted to see me?" he asked, effectively announcing his presence. She jumped a little at the sound of his voice, nervous where she had never been before. Immediately, he expected a set-up, but knew in his heart that she would never attempt such a thing._

_He had come alone, as she had requested, curious as to what she had that he could possibly be interested in._

_"I didn't think you would come," she smiled, regaining lost confidence._

_"You said it was important."_

_And she nodded knowingly; he would not have come for personal reasons._

_"It's good to see you again," she told him as she wrapped her arms around her body, holding warmth into her coat. "How long has it bee? Two years?"_

_Leon__ raised his eyebrows. He was not in the mood for games, not now. His lack of contact with her had been by choice, not by circumstance. Once a reliable source for information, he could no longer trust anything that came from her. The information may have been sound, but the degree of truth to which it was presented with was questionable. If she had been forthcoming, maybe...maybe the past two years would not have been so difficult._

_"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," she offered. "I didn't know-"_

_"Are you serious?" he laughed, incredulous. Words with the power required to describe what coursed through him simply did not exist._

_"He was never supposed to find out!" she shot back, raising her voice as she stepped towards him. But then she recoiled, glancing around before lowering her voice. "I wanted him out of the picture, Leon. Spencer was as valuable to my interests as he was to Wesker's. I never wanted him to hunt the old man down. If the BSAA had apprehended Spencer, the information they gained would have slowly filtered back to us. He was no good to us dead, so tell me where in your replay of events did his appearance work in my favour?"_

_He was silent, but anger continued to bubble within. Whatever his feelings for the spy may have been, a line had been crossed and this time the result had been fatal._

_"It was Irving," she revealed after a deep exhalation. "He was...one of my associates. Spencer's butler forwarded the information to him so that he could hand it to me and I, in turn, could present it to Wesker. But I didn't...I gave it to _you_. It _had_ to be Irving..."_

_Leon__ did not know whether or not he believed her story. While it was true that a wealth of information had died with Spencer, her connections to Wesker were too strong to be ignored. It was no secret that the tyrant wanted both Chris and Jill dead. She would have gained his utmost trust if she handed his enemies to him on a silver platter...which was exactly what had happened. Chris had barely escaped with his life, and Jill...Jill was not so lucky._

_"I'm sorry about your friend," she apologised, as earnest as he had ever heard her. "It never should have played out that way, but...she died a hero. Not many of us are afforded such an honourable death."_

_This time, his laugh was bitter._

_"Leon, I didn't come here to argue blame," she told him. It was obvious that she was desperate to press the matter of their meeting. "I came here because I have something I need you to forward to the BSAA."_

_He accepted the manila folder that she handed him, curious about its contents. But could he trust anything that she gave him? With Ada, the situation was never at it first seemed; who knew what kind of intent was in play behind the scenes?_

_"Ricardo Irving is a bioweapons smuggler," she told him as he perused the contents, eyes fixated on photographs of who he assumed was the man in question. "One of my colleagues posed as a potential buyer to secure this information. It's...nothing we've ever seen before. It has the traits of a plaga-type creature, but the sores evident between the dorsal scales are characteristic of T-virus incubation. It was...in my best interests to determine where and how Irving was obtaining his stock, so I worked with him on an undercover basis for some time...it is entirely possible that during this time he may have obtained a plaga sample from my employers. If this is true, then he supplied that sample to someone with the facilities and expertise to develop this creature."_

_There was more information in the folder; maps, data, more photographs._

_"Uroboros?" he muttered, squinting at a badly-photocopied sheet. "What is that?"_

_"We have no idea," Ada sighed. "It's something he has been shopping around as 'in development'. Word on the street is that it is some kind of doomsday weapon...very expensive, very powerful."_

_Just what the world needed. But Leon kept his thoughts to himself, perusing the information that now lay in his hands. The BSAA could use this, he knew that for sure. But why had she not simply handed it to them herself? It was not a matter of trust; the BSAA had acted on many anonymous tips in its time._

_"What is it that you _really_ want?" he asked. He could always tell when she was hiding something; truth be told, he could not recall a time she had been completely honest with him._

_Ada__ sighed and crossed her arms in front of her, warm breath clouding as it touched cool air._

_"A couple of weeks ago, I met...a colleague," she informed him. "He had been working undercover at a non-public medical facility in Europe for a number of years. The facility was owned and run by ex-Umbrella staff, and he was filtering information out to us until the BSAA shut the place down at the end of last year."_

_She paused to draw breath, shoulders shaking though he could tell that it was not from the cold. Every cell within his body screamed at him to reach out for her, to offer a little reassuring comfort. But he stopped himself, knowing that it could lead nowhere good._

_"The conversation turned to work," she continued. "And he mentioned something that happened towards the end of 2006. He said that a patient was admitted suffering from wounds that were congruent with trauma sustained by a high-speed collision...or a high-velocity fall. The patient was female, early thirties, long brunette hair, with blue eyes...and she was admitted wearing a blue BSAA-issue uniform."_

_She paused for a moment, meeting Leon's eyes as he digested this information. Her words meant nothing; there were a million women out there fitting that description. Jill was dead, her body swept out to sea. But the uniform...it could not be a coincidence._

_"My colleague did not work on her case. Everything surrounding her arrival was hushed up; she was housed in an isolated area of the hospital, and an external scientist placed himself in charge of her care. Who this scientist was, we don't know. But the patient survived. She was transferred out of the facility soon after she arrived, under the care of Ricardo Irving."_

_The new information filtered slowly into his brain. He did not quite know what to think. Every sense of logic within him told her that she was dead and gone. But his heart, and every sliver of hope he held for his friend told him to believe in Ada's words, to at least look into the possibility._

_"I don't know where they took her," Ada pressed, reaching out to touch gently upon his arm. He could feel the warmth of her touch even through the leather of his jacket, as absurd as this sounded to him. "But wherever Irving is now, she will be. I truly believe that woman was Jill, Leon. If my actions in any way led to her fate then this is my way of attempting to make amends. But you have to know: wherever she is, they wanted her alive for a reason. If you go after her, and she truly is alive, there is no guarantee that what you find will be Jill Valentine. She could already be gone."_

He owed so much to Ada for that day. The information had been forwarded to the BSAA, her theory on Jill's whereabouts to Chris - who, at the time, proved to be more difficult to track down than Irving himself - and the resulting chain reaction had led him to where he was today. He had not contacted his oftentimes informant to offer thanks, and she had not extended a word to him. It was better this way, he told himself. Whatever his feelings for Ada had been, he was with Claire now.

His attention turned once again to the letter at his feet. Her words were personal...

Without glancing at these words, he picked up the discarded paper and marched towards the kitchen, folding the sheets carefully back into the envelope. Almost subconsciously, he reached for the matches he kept by the oven - a modern apartment and still he was left with a gas cooker.

There was not a hint of hesitation as he struck a solitary match against the side of the box, the flame flaring in his hands. And relief followed as he held it to the envelope, paper burning slowly before his eyes. It was as though an entire portion of his life melted away with her words.

Things were so different now; life played to a different tune. Perhaps once upon a time he would not have thought twice about reading her words, and perhaps ending up on her doorstep, willing to start something he had wished for in his youthful ignorance. But everything was so different now. _He_ was different.

He dropped the letter into the sink as the flames reached halfway, listening to them sizzle out of existence as he walked away.

* * *

**_June 21, 2009. 7:23pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

What had initially been a brief catch up with Barry had turned into a day-long outing. Chris did not mind the extended period of time with his old friend, but questioned his own reasons for staying out so long.

'She didn't call,' he reminded himself. 'She can cope on her own; she doesn't need you to baby her all the time.'

He laughed quietly to himself, asking why, if he worried so much about her, he had spent the last ten minutes on the steps of their front porch. He was scared, afraid of what lay beyond that door.

The sting of Bourbon lingered on his tongue, and he knew that she would smell the alcohol as soon as he drew close enough. But she would not say anything; she would smile weakly and pretend that she did not notice. It was simply how things were now. And he hated it.

There was always room for change, but both parties were too afraid to take the initiative. The pain numbed everything, and together they had fallen into the comfortable hold of complacency. It was so much easier to tolerate than to fight back.

But the fragments of his heart that remained were beginning to crumble in his hands as every morning he would wake to the same lethargic behaviour, to the tears she did not even attempt to hide from him anymore. He had asked her to talk, but how could he demand that which he could not offer himself? The truth was that he did not even know where to start where his own feelings were concerned. He had fallen from father-to-be to barely a fiancé so quickly that the impact rippled, and he did not know when or even if it would ever fade. Even simply looking at her was incredibly painful these days.

His thoughts were often selfish, and he was ashamed of where his mind wandered sometimes. He did not blame her for the miscarriage, not in the slightest; he knew that blame lay elsewhere. But he had not realised just how much fatherhood meant to him until he saw that first scan of his child, had heard the heartbeat fill every well of emotion within his soul. Perhaps it was simply never meant to be for him? It seemed as though an unavoidable, painful choice was presented to him. Jill or a child; he could not have both.

'Why are you with her?' he asked himself. 'Because she is going through a difficult time? Because she needs you?'

No. He was with her because he loved her, because life without her was so painfully bare that it had almost driven him insane. He would give up everything to be with her.

'And there is your answer.'

Guilt descended and he rose to his feet, determined. Remaining on the porch was just cowardly, and deep down he knew that all he wanted to do was walk into that house and simply be with her. Because she was enough for him and always would be, even if that truth would ultimately be the end of him.

An appetising aroma hit his nostrils the moment he stepped through the door, clatters emanating from the distant kitchen. He followed the sounds, cautiously approaching a set dining table.

"Oh, good timing!" Jill announced, poking her head around the arched doorway that led to their spacious kitchen. It was her suddenly cheerful attitude that threw him off, and a smile that appeared genuine at first glance.

"Are you okay?" he asked as she walked towards him, casting aside her red apron.

She registered his question, humming in confusion before that familiar glaze fell into her eyes and she looked away, fingers tugging at the of the waistline of the dress she had changed into. He had almost failed to notice her outfit, so used to seeing her in far less flattering attire. The miscarriage had changed her completely, from demeanour to the very clothes that she wore - more often than not, his. So he found that he could not tear his eyes away from that shapely body, from the fabric that emphasised the swell of her hips, high-cut enough to disguise the scarring on her chest.

"You look...beautiful," he breathed. He knew that there was no sense in keeping this to himself; he wanted her to know, and she _needed_ to know.

An uncharacteristic blush rose to her cheeks and she muttered a quick thanks, dodging the hand that moved to her waist. At first, his heart sank, but then he saw her hand reach for a small package on the edge of the dining table.

"I...haven't been the best girlfriend this past week," she laughed bitterly, turning the package over in her hands. "This...this was for your birthday, but I...forgot. I am so sorry, Chris-"

"Oh God," he exhaled, the memory flooding back. It was not until the first phone call came in early in the afternoon that he had remembered himself. There was so much going on in their lives that a birthday seemed insignificant. How could he celebrate another year of life when one had been recently lost? "Baby, it's nothing! Trust me, thirty-six is not something to celebrate. I've been trying to forget every birthday since I turned thirty."

She did not laugh with him, only pressed the gift into his hands.

"I wrapped this for you," she smiled, though Chris could see that it did not meet her eyes. "It's not a lot, but I didn't have much money at the time."

Words escaped him, but he opened the gift with careful curiosity. He had not expected anything from her; until the issues with her life insurance and the bank's arduous transfer process were resolved barely a fortnight ago, she had not a penny to her name. While Chris was generous in the amount money that he had shared with her, he refused to loan her a sum when he knew that she intended to spend it on him.

It was a photo frame, and an inexpensive one at that. But the photo within...

"H-How?" he stuttered.

The photograph in question had been taken during their S.T.A.R.S. days, in his old, untidy apartment; an innocent evening of movies, pizza and beer. Joseph had found an old camera in one of the many unexplored cupboards and had taken to documenting every moment of that night. Jill had simply happened to walk past as Joseph prepared to snap a picture of both Forest and Chris, and both men had reached for the belt loops of her jeans, pulling her back onto their laps amidst hysterical laughter. The resulting photograph had been one of his favourite, until his first apartment outside of Raccoon had sprung a leak and damaged several boxes of possessions.

"Patricia's sister married a guy who specialises in photo restoration," she explained. "He mainly works with old portraits and black and white prints, but he...well, you can see."

He was speechless. In monetary terms, the gift was perhaps worth less than ten dollars, but in a less tangible sense it was priceless. He had not expected a present from her, had even warned her not to waste her limited funds. But this...this was _indescribable_.

"It's perfect," he smiled, pulling her into a grateful embrace. And she sank into him, holding him tighter than affection alone would warrant. It felt so good to have her in his arms again, her love possessively displayed. "Thank you."

It was not the expensive gifts that mattered. He was a sentimental man, and a small gift that spoke to his heart was worth more in his eyes than a pompously elaborate present. And she had handed him what was quite possibly the most valuable gift he had ever received. It was so much more than a photograph to him, and he knew that the importance had not been lost on her.

Wherever her mind was now, wherever her thoughts did dwell, her heart at least was with him.

And that was all his grieving soul needed to know.

**AN - Please review :).**


	3. The Ghosts That Haunt Us

**AN - **This chapter turned out abnormally long. There was a lot to get through and I didn't feel able to cut anything out, so it stays this length...hopefully it won't be too frustrating to read ^_^. I did not think that the Jill/Chris sections would be so big. I had a little trouble getting across what I wanted to with Jill's segment so I hope it turned out alright. For the L/C fans: the quote in this chapter mainly pertains to Leon this time round, however small his role is. Just keep that in mind at the end ^.^.

A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed - _Kenshin13, Biohazardous Fears, Supermodel Sandwich, tek, Ninja-Gnome, xSummonerYunax_ and _Black Metalmark_. Most of you have been with me a while so you should know by now how much I appreciate it ^_^. I raised the rating to M not because of this chapter, but because of what is coming. And yes, it does have to do with the new addition to this chapter. I hope you enjoy the new chaptee!

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

_**Chapter Two**__ - The Ghosts That Haunt Us_

_'The most important things are the hardest things to say._  
_They are the things you get ashamed of because words diminish your feelings_  
_- words shrink things that seem timeless when they are in your head_  
_to no more than living size when they are brought out.'_  
~Stephen King~

_**June 25, 2009. 8:15am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA.**_

Chris still set the alarm, though he rarely had any reason to get out of bed in the morning. On the return from Africa, he had put in a request for a year's leave for both himself and Jill. He had hoped that it would be enough time for her to sort out her affairs and have a good chance at a full recovery, and he wanted to be there every step of the way. Her crutch, if you will. The BSAA had granted it almost immediately, telling them both to take as much time as they needed.

But she had been stubbornly independent in days of late, and for all the wrong reasons. Without being condescending, he knew that she was not yet capable of facing her demons alone and he was deeply afraid that her desperate attempts would only delay recovery.

And then there was the latest blow.

The ache within his chest had not faded since that day, but he suppressed it, denying its existence. Because to him, it did not exist. It _couldn't_ exist.

He had barely emerged from the bedroom, yawning widely as he rubbed his eyes, when the notes of the piano reached his ears. It brought a smile to his lips, and peace to the mind that had awoken in an otherwise empty bed. It was not often that she did much but cry and stare into the distance these days. She had claimed that hobbies did not hold the same appeal, that fun was an elusive concept that she just could not seem to grasp, and so it pleased him to hear that she was at least still trying.

But he knew that it would not last.

With quick steps he moved downstairs, heading first for the kitchen. His mind spun from the recent ascent from sleep, and he needed something to settle the tremors that always seemed to be present when he woke. The bottle was cold to the touch, the cool beer within soothing to his throat as he knocked it back, discarding the cap in the waste bin.

It was only then that he made his way to the lounge room. When moving into the house, they had no set idea of what would go where and which area would be used for what, only that the one ensuite bedroom would be the master. But Chris had wanted a quiet room away from everything where Jill could go when she just needed to get away from it all. The baby grand piano had been somewhat of a 'welcome home' gift from him to her. He had hoped that it would provide her with distraction: something to focus on in the moments she just could not bear her own company. The lounge was the first doorway one would come across on the right when entering the house; most of the neighbours had utilised it as the living area, with a lounge area where they had placed the television. But the traditional lounge area had been open plan, and offered very little privacy.

The tune ceased as he drew closed, frustrated curses flung into the silence before she evidently bashed her fist against the keys.

"Okay," she said to herself. "One more time."

And she played, the familiar tune filling the room with its melody, until once again she cried out in frustration.

"Hey," he spoke quietly as he approached, careful not to startle her. "You're playing again."

"No I'm not," she insisted, an almost petulant tone to her words. "I'm trying, but... I know this song but I can't...I don't know what it is. No name, no lyrics...it's pissing me off."

"I can see that."

Her shoulders relaxed a little as his free hand came to rest against her shirt, soothing in its touch.

Long fingers moved over keys once again, and Chris found that he too could not quite place where he had heard the song before. But Jill appeared to be taken her forgetfulness to heart and swore vehemently before slamming down the lid and resting her elbows on the wood, head falling into her hands.

Without a word, he squeezed her shoulder and leaned down to press his lips against her soft hair, the faint strawberry scent of her shampoo greeting him. And she leaned back into him, accepting his warmth into her body as she reached back to place a hand over his. But the bottle in his hand bumped against the exposed skin of her upper arm and she jumped from the sudden chill, turning suddenly, all affection gone.

He braced himself for the anger and the admonishment, mentally prepared a defence he knew he would have to offer.

But the anger never came. There was only cold silence, and a diverted gaze that radiated all the sadness she did not express. Part of him wished that she would yell, would snatch the bottle from his hand and empty it into the sink our out of the window. But she was resigned; to what, he did not know.

"I should go," she whispered timidly as she rose to her feet. "I have an appointment with Dr. Keller in half an hour."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Jill paused for a moment as she observed his shirtless visage, pyjama pants hung low on his hips. He had not even showered that morning; there was no way that he could clean up, dress and be at the clinic on time.

"I'll be fine," she assured him, still unable to meet his eyes.

She had been rather hush-hush about her appointments, and her progress had only been visible through noticeable changes. But he let her have this one, knowing that there were some things she just had to learn to come to terms with on her own.

But there were still times when she needed a little push. After two and a half years of being trapped silently inside her own mind, she had learnt the unhealthy habit of keeping everything inside; expression was still very much a concept she was readjusting herself to. It was not that she did not wish to share some things, but that she simply did not know how.

"Jill," he called softly, following her as she retrieved her jacket from the back of the sofa and turned towards the front door. "Please talk to her about...about the miscarriage."

It pained him to be so blunt, but he knew that she would take his words too generally if he was not specific.

"Maybe," she grimaced. As she slipped into the arms of her grey pinstripe jacket, she closed her eyes against unseen emotion. Slowly she turned to him, meeting his eyes at last. "But who will _you_ talk to, Chris?"

With a fleeting glance at the bottle in his hands, she quietly left.

* * *

_**June 25, 2009. 8:30am. Burton residence. Arlington, VA.**_

The boxes were surprisingly heavy, Rebecca realised as she manoeuvred unsteadily up the steps. Where she may once have possessed upper body strength, now she had none. While she frequented the gym whenever she had time, her routine these days was more focused on retaining her toned figure as opposed to maximising strength.

'Not that you had much to begin with,' she reminded herself with an inward chuckle.

The front door eased open and Kathy reached out to take one of the boxes from her arms, gracefully alleviating the stress on the younger woman's arms.

"Be careful," she warned with a smile. "We've lost the first aid kit so if you hurt yourself, you're on your own."

Together, they succeeded in heaving the two loads into the kitchen, setting them down on the work surface with a loud clunk.

"What the hell does he want all this for, anyway?" Rebecca wanted to know as she wiped her forehead with the back of a hand. Barry had not extended her the courtesy of reasoning, and had simply requested that she bring any spare weaponry that she was unlikely to use, even if it was merely a component. As it turned out, she had a lot locked away in the closet she no longer dared enter.

"I prefer not to get involved in his work," Kathy laughed with a shrug. "I think he's working on some custom model. Long Island Iced Tea?"

Rebecca blinked at the jug she held out, scrutinising her expression as a means of gauging her seriousness.

"Alcohol...this early?"

"Polly went on a trip with her friends," Kathy explained, smiling indifferently. "School has only been out a week and already I feel exhausted. This is my day off, both from the girls and from work and I intend to spend my free time wisely. Care to help?"

Rebecca accepted a glass with a smirk, but they both know that she had places to be. Rumour had it that the head of department was transferring to Maine, leaving his job wide open. While she was not the most experienced member of the team she was without a doubt the most skilled. The hours were a little kinder and the money was certainly nothing to sniff at. So she had dedicated herself to ensuring that when the time came for the board to recruit a replacement, hers was the only name in mind. She had always aimed for the top, and now it was in sight.

But the realisation had not come without a generous helping of disheartening thoughts. She had scaled Maslow's pyramid, but something continued to pull her straight down the other side; incompletion in its most irritating form.

She was almost thirty years old; an age at which she always knew that she would have the high-flying career everyone said was coming her way. But what of the family she had seen? What of the man she would be beginning to settle down with at this age? Where was he?

All of her childhood friends were now married, most of them with children. Barry and Kathy had one another with children who had almost flown the nest, Claire had Leon, and Jill had Chris, with a baby on the way. The last time she had heard news of Carlos, he was in a serious relationship. Even the player was settling down, and where was she?

She had achieved so much in her young life, yet everything that she wanted continued to elude her.

"Are you okay, honey?" Kathy asked, voice breaking through her thoughts.

"Sure," she smiled in reply.

'Kathy is a great mother,' she pondered. 'You trust her to be honest...who better to share your thoughts with?"

"Actually..." The word came out before she was fully aware that it had even formed in her throat. "I guess...I realised it has been at least three years since I was in a serious relationship."

Kathy raised an eyebrow, swirling the ice in her glass around the plastic straw. Rebecca had yet to touch hers, though it was not out of avoidance. A stiff drink was exactly what she needed to get herself through a busy day at work.

"I had this whole future planned out for myself when I was a teenager," she revealed, restraint no longer an option. "I would focus on my career, but I would leave time to...find a nice man and maybe... Well, I wanted to be married by the time I was thirty, and then I wanted to try for a child right away. Turns out I have seven weeks to meet a guy I want to spend the rest of my life with and marry him."

Her bitter laugh brought a frown to Kathy's soft features. She did not know what advice she expected to hear; when Kathy was her age, she was already a wife and a mother to two beautiful girls. She had everything, and Barry made sure that she wanted for nothing.

"Life never turns out the way we plan," she reminded Rebecca, reaching out to place a reassuring hand over hers. I did not plan to have children until I was at least thirty, but I was trying for a child at the age of twenty-four, and I was a mother by twenty-six. When you meet the person you are meant to be with, everything changes. You're still young, Rebecca; you have at least another ten years to worry about husbands and children."

But what if worry was all that she did? The discovery of Jill's pregnancy had set thoughts into motion, and they had not been so easily discarded. She was an independent woman; it was not her single status that bothered her.

"I've been...thinking about having a child," she admitted. It was the first time she had spoken those words aloud, and she was surprised to find that they did not sound quite as absurd as she had imagined. It was a logical decision, given her circumstances. After all, it was not that she was not looking to settle down and have a family, but that years of trying had delivered only heartache and barely even the promise of a future.

All Kathy offered in response was a series of slow, laborious blinks as she digested this new information.

"You do know that...it takes two to make a baby, right?" she asked dumbly.

"Not necessarily," Rebecca explained with a grimace. "Lots of women have children on their own these days. There are those who have a child with a male friend, those who opt for IVF and donor sperm, and then there are those who adopt. I have almost reached my career goals, Kathy; this is...it's what I want."

Kathy remained expressionless. It was evident that she was suppressing an opinion, for which Rebecca was silently thankful. Every word of dissuasion that could possibly be uttered, she had already screamed at herself. But no matter how she attempted to talk herself out of this, she found the thought of becoming a mother too pleasing to ignore. There were plenty of children out there who were so easily cast aside by their biological parents; why should she not offer to be a mother to them?

"Being a mother is difficult, Rebecca," Kathy informed her. "Raising a child on your own will be a huge challenge."

"I know," Rebecca grimaced. "I'm not talking about an immediate situation. I want...I want to wait a little while, to fully come to terms with the idea. Maybe...maybe fostering first. Trust me, I didn't jump straight to this decision; I have thought very carefully about it."

She was twenty-nine years old, and in her time she could think of only one serious relationship. Perhaps she was simply not cut out for love?

It was a disheartening thought, but one she knew that she should attempt to come to terms with.

* * *

_**June 25, 2009. 9:00am. Etonfield Clinic. Arlington, VA.**_

Nerves had seized her the moment she stepped out of her Mazda. She had seen Dr. Keller on many occasions, but none since the night that had admittedly shaken her. A well-timed holiday on the psychologist's side gave her two week's reprieve. Neither had realised just how much could happen in two weeks.

Jill pulled at the end of her jacket, feeling immensely overdressed. The grey pinstriped trouser suit with dark mauve blouse was a far cry from her usual jeans and hooded top, but inspiration had struck for a brief moment that morning and something had compelled her to reach for something a little more stylish. Mauve, it seemed, went well with her new hair colour.

"Jill Valentine."

Dr. Keller's voice drew her eyes to the edge of the waiting room, to that familiar smile. She wasted not a moment in rising to her feet and following the good Doctor to her office a little way down the hall.

"Take a seat," she urged in a friendly manner as she held open the door. "You're looking very nice today, Jill."

Jill muttered a quick word of thanks, disguising the blush that rose to her cheeks. She did not know if it was Dr. Keller's soft British accent or the genuine meaning in her words; nothing that passed her lips sounded false in the slightest. Perhaps this was why Jill had chosen to remain with her when therapy was the last thing she wanted to experience upon her return to the States.

She found a seat on the soft couch, pushing aside a misplaced cushion to find a comfortable position.

"Okay...two weeks," Dr. Keller announced as she lowered herself into her usual armchair. She was, it appeared, big on comfort, both physically and psychologically. She had told Jill on one occasion that the armchair helped to bring her to the same level as the patient, and the formality of a computer chair and ominous desk often resulted in the patient's restraint in terms of disclosure.

Honesty was another strong policy of hers. She never lied, which amounted to trustworthiness in Jill's eyes. Even the darker issues were explained in full, sparing not one daunting detail.

"How have you been?" Dr. Keller asked, smile now faltering.

Jill could see the folder on her desk, and knew immediately what lay within. In the name of full disclosure - and a lack of trust in herself where complete honesty was concerned - Jill had signed off on her medical files, allowing all details to be shared with her psychologist. She felt that the introductory question this session was a loaded one. But she had been with Dr. Keller for long enough to know that she would not simply come out and admit what she had read; she preferred the patient to speak of their problems. Quite often, it would be the first time they addressed the issue out loud. This was certainly the case for Jill.

"Not too good," she admitted as pressure built in her sinuses. "Things have...changed."

Silence lingered after her words, and she could almost feel the push that the psychologist dared not give verbally.

"I...I lost our child almost...two weeks ago."

The stinging resonance of the words burned into her skin, and she felt that familiar ache in her abdomen. They had told her that it would become easier as time passed. If such relief was coming, she was still waiting for it.

"And why do you feel that you 'lost' your child?" Dr. Keller asked.

Her question shocked Jill at first, until she took a moment to truly understand the words.

"Loss implies something quite personal," the doctor explained. "You claim that you as an individual lost your child, but you describe the child as belonging to both yourself and the father. I sense already that you associate feelings of guilt with the miscarriage?"

A solitary tear slid over the smooth surface of her cheek, and she made no attempt to wipe it away. It was not that Dr. Keller had insinuated guilt; her assessment was spot on. It was not the belief that Chris blamed her that was slowly eating away at her inside, but the fact that she knew he was right to.

"It was my body that killed...it was _my body_."

Dr Keller's youthful brow wrinkled in sympathy; she could not have been much older than Jill, yet the younger woman was sure that she would appear ten years older once their sessions were complete. She had, Jill noticed now, an unmistakeable aura of beauty about her. Her skin lightly tanned, black hair healthy in both colour and texture. Feelings of envy arose in her chest; there was so much about her that she wished she could cling onto in herself. The confidence, that smile. Chris had always told her that she had a beautiful smile. But that was before...

"It was the chemical in your bloodstream," Dr. Keller reminded her. "It was not your fault."

How did she know that? In Jill's mind she was at blame in every sense of the word, though it came with no explanation.

"I was sent the results of your latest blood test," she announced. "I believe you have not seen your doctor to collect them?"

Jill shook her head. She could not bring herself to see him, not after all that had happened. Whatever was wrong with her, she did not want to know. She was sick and tired of receiving bad news, and truly did not know how much more she could take.

"The last analysis showed no traces of P30 within your system," she heard. "You have the body of a perfectly healthy thirty-four-year-old woman, albeit an enviably athletic one. If you and your fiancé were to try for a family right now there would be nothing stopping you from conceiving a healthy child and carrying them to full term."

The new should have pleased her, but she knew better than to dwell on false hope. Something else would show up sooner or later. It always did. Nine months was a long time, and she knew that pregnancy in itself was a complex medical condition; quite simply, anything could go wrong. And for her, it would.

"How has your relationship with your fiancé been since the miscarriage?"

It was the question Jill had been dreading, because she simply did not know how their relationship had been affected by that night. They had barely spoken of their loss.

"I think...I think he blames me," she admitted tearfully, remembering her vow of honesty to both the doctor and herself.

"And why do you think that?"

"Because he has to," she insisted. "He wants to be a father...so much. I lost his child; how can he not blame me? He can barely look at me anymore."

Dr. Keller considered this, her eyes steadily on Jill, hand stationary as it clasped a pen above her notebook. Chris had been a frequent topic of their discussions, with Jill more often than not singing his praises. Because he deserved that much. Any other man would have walked away, her issues too painful and inconvenient to deal with…but not Chris.

"I have not met Chris," Dr. Keller sighed. "But from our conversations, he does not sound like the type of man who would be inclined towards something so negative. He seems to love you very much; I doubt that he would truly blame you for something so evidently out of your control. What you interpret as blame could very well be his own grief manifesting in an unexpected way."

The tears were more forceful now, and she reached for the tissues that were kept by the arm of the sofa. It was true that there was no proof to Chris's supposed guilt other than averted gazes and sudden shyness where she was concerned; all traits that could have been borne from so many other aspects.

"Tell me what you feel, Jill. I don't want to prompt you and I don't want you to answer me...I just want you to talk. Tell me how you feel about everything that has happened since we last spoke."

Jill did not even know where to start. There was so much that she had to say, so much that could make a difference in Dr. Keller's eyes.

In the end, she settled with that which was obvious to her, deciding to voice her thoughts as they came to her. It was, after all, what Dr. Keller had been trying to train her to do during their sessions.

"I feel as though I have let him down," she admitted with more reluctance than she expected to meet. The words were painful, but she knew that they must be spoken. If she could not be honest with Chris, then she could at least be honest with the one other person that she trusted. "He set out to rescue the women he loves, but...but what he brought home was…this. It's like...waiting for a package to arrive and when it does you find that there are parts missing, and the whole is useless without them. Sometimes...sometimes I wonder how he can love me. He always told me how he loved my passion and my strength, but I have never felt as weak as I do right now. I'm not strong, I'm not passionate; I can't even flash him the smile he used to love. There is nothing left of the woman he loved and...I'm terrified that he will realise that."

She took a moment to reach for another tissue and dabbed beneath her eyes, drawing a deep breath as she waited for a response.

"I think you're lying," Dr. Keller announced with a wry smile, startling her for a moment. "I look at you and I see the progress you have made since our first meeting, and in that I see immeasurable strength. Your determination to find safe ground is outstanding, as is your capacity to push through and your willingness to address issues that are no doubt still tender to even consider. I have patients who walk through that door six months after referral who are still in the same place they were the first time they sat where you are now. I have seen sufferers of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder buckle beneath the pressure and slip into an unbreakable circle of self-degradation. It is not the therapist that brings about change, but the client and you have achieved more in the past two months than I honestly expected you to in _six_ months. That strength you spoke of...it may not be visible to you but I see it, and I am sure that Chris does too. And, for the record, I believe that you are extremely blessed to have such a caring partner. Some are not so lucky."

Jill could not help but smile after this, despite knowing that she had got it all wrong.

"You have to believe in yourself, Jill," she urged. "I know that, given your circumstances, this is often easier said than done, but you have to hold on to whatever shred of power you still feel within you. I _know_ that you can do this. If you find that you can't trust yourself, trust _me_."

Jill sniffed into a third fresh tissue, a maelstrom of anxiety and counteracting determination swirling inside her chest. There were some days that she felt stronger than others, but as time went on it became increasingly difficult to find these good days. It was hope that she lacked, and every opportunity for some semblance of a future that presented itself melted right before her eyes. There were so many shattered hopes that she wondered just when she would stop mourning them and simply cope.

"How are you coping with the loss?" the doctor asked. It was a question that had not yet been addressed, but Jill knew was inevitable.

"I'm not."

She had not yet admitted this to herself, let alone spoken the words. The relief was unexpected; sweet and fresh, as though a heavy cloud had dispersed, allowing fresh air to reach her lungs and fill her with its healthy potency.

"I'm...I'm struggling to cope with the loss," she whispered, tears suddenly renewed. "The doctors...they acted as though fourteen weeks was nothing. But it was to me! They just don't understand that."

Dr. Keller fell once again into her own mind, sighing in irritation Jill initially believed was aimed at her.

"Doctors are trained in medicine," she pointed out. "They deal with tragedy so often that it becomes commonplace to them and sometimes they can forget that something as medically simple as a miscarriage at such an early stage of development can have psychological repercussions that their drugs cannot make disappear. You should have been referred to a bereavement councillor by protocol alone, so they dropped the ball on that one. But you have me, and I'm going to make sure that we get through this, okay?"

Jill nodded, wondering just how she succeeded in finding the one psychologist on Earth that not only truly understood her, but spoke to her in a way that forced her to find that little nugget of strength within and use it to bring about something positive. In many ways, she displayed the strength of mind that she herself once possessed. Lying to Dr. Keller quite often felt worse than lying to herself. She had a way of wrangling the truth out of her, even when she had not been aware of this truth herself.

"Now, on a more emotional level, how do you feel about what happened? How do you feel about what followed?"

It did not take much delving into her sub-consciousness to find a reason, but she mulled it over in her mind before speaking.

"Devastated," she breathed, exhaling carefully. "It feels as though... This sounds ridiculous, I know...but nothing seems the same anymore. I can't enjoy the things that I used to love, and...there is this one song that I've been playing on the piano, but I can't remember what it is. I know the tune and I know the words, but I can't place them. It's driving me crazy and I know that this isn't normal!"

Embarrassment was not far behind her words. She felt shame on a level she had not thought possible, exacerbated by the knowledge that these were words she should have been speaking to Chris. She was equally as responsible for their lack of communication in recent days and it was killing her.

Concern crept once again to Dr. Keller's features and she scribbled something onto her notepad.

'"Fucking nuts", probably.'

"Forgive me for being so direct," she spoke slowly, enunciating every syllable. "But, have you experienced any suicidal thoughts or feelings? However trivial these may seem to you."

The word 'suicide' was not one Jill had ever taken lightly. It had all begun in her freshman year of high school, when a sophomore girl had taken her father's Sig to her temple, for no reason other than she had fallen out of favour with her friends after an unpleasant break-up. Prior to that day, Jill had always kept to herself in terms of disputes, holding sympathy for the so-called 'loners' but never making any effort to comfort or befriend them. She had been told that it was every man for himself in high school, and she had lived by that role for only two months before the friendly, popular girl had ended her life. There were occasions in her short-lived career in law enforcement where S.T.A.R.S. had been sent to the business district of Raccoon, tasked with talking down a suicidal individual. Sometimes they succeeded, sometimes they did not. But still, prejudices lingered; she never could understand how someone could have so little concern for their own life...

"Yes," she whispered. But she did not know how to elaborate; there was so much behind that one word that she did not know where to begin.

She had made it clear to Wesker on more occasions than she allowed herself to remember that she would rather have been dead than live through what her life had become. But he had laughed at every request, had told her that she would die an old woman in his care. She knew that if that day ever came, her mind would already be gone, her body simply a useless shell, animated by strings he plucked for his own amusement. The seeds that his torment had sewn had taken root, had flowered into her life after imprisonment; venomous spores that poisoned her from within. While it was Dr. Keller's task to assist her in uprooting these weeds and planting something of her own devising, some days she could not help but wonder if it was working at all. Many had said that the difference was visible, but it was not to her. If anything, she felt worse today than she ever had.

"We have already discussed this element during your captivity," Dr. Keller spoke softly. "And we spoke a little of the time after your return to the United States. But what about now?"

Jill knew what she referred to and found that a lump rose to her throat, her veins running cold.

"I...I know I'm a burden," was all she felt able to offer directly. It was not pessimism in her eyes; it was a simple fact. Chris's life would be so much easier without the strain she put on it every day. Sometimes she felt as though she trapped him, but she herself was so dependent that she could not let go.

"If...if I didn't love him so much, I don't think...I don't think I would still be here. He suffered a lot when he lost me and I don't want to put him through that again. But...it's becoming too much to bear. I don't...I don't know how much longer I can keep going."

She could tell from Dr. Keller's expression that this was not what she had wanted to hear; that the meaning of her words ran deeper than semantics. When the tip of her pen pressed to the notepad this time, words were scratched onto the page for almost a full minute. There was only one occasion on which Jill had witnessed her psychologist scribble for so long; the day she was handed the diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

"Okay, Jill," she spoke softly when she had finished, raising a hand to push her dark bangs from her eyes. "I want to forgo our usual exercises this week in lieu of an assessment. I understand that this may be a little daunting to you, but I want you to be completely honest with me."

"W-What is it for?" Jill stuttered. An assessment could mean only one thing.

"I need to ascertain the origin of these emotions," the doctor explained. "Psychological health is a blurry area; the symptoms of many disorders overlap. I need to know if what you have been describing is related to the Post-Traumatic Stress disorder or if it is due to something else entirely."

"So this...whatever it is, it isn't normal?"

Dr. Keller shook her head grimly.

"Emotions in the extreme are never normal," she explained. "Not even happiness. But happiness is not a problem because it encourages positive action. Negative emotions are normal in small doses, but taken to the extreme they only encourage further negativity, which can be extremely painful to both the individual in question and those around them. But please, I don't want you to worry; if this is what I believe it to be, it is a very common matter and very treatable."

But it was still something that needed to be treated. And that, in Jill's mind, was just another blow.

"I am also..." Dr. Keller told her as she reached over to her purse, plucking a business card from an outside pocket and making to write something on the back. "...going to refer you to an old colleague of mine. She has a background in bereavement counselling, but currently works with couples. I believe it would be beneficial if both you and Chris spoke to her about your loss. The loss of a child - even an unborn child - can place great strain on a couple, whether they feel it or not. I will tell her to expect your call, but I want you to make that move yourself. Please, talk to your fiancé about it."

Jill took the card with a single trembling hand. She knew that she had a valid point, but did not know if Chris would go for such an idea. As much as their relationship may mean to him, she knew that he hated the idea of therapy.

The session continued as a blur, a decision reached that appeared to significantly restrict the capacity of her lungs. The numbness continued long after she left Dr. Keller's office, handing the usual details for her next appointment to the receptionist and then retreating to the small restroom as she did every week.

The sanctity of the office did not linger long, and all of the comfort and confidence that she felt would melt away, leaving only worry and insecurity behind as she regretted words that seemed so right at the time. Her usual routine was to cry in the safety of the small, comfortable restroom and then wander out to her car and drive to mall to window-shop her troubles away.

But today the tears did not come. Instead, it was shock that settled into her system as she lowered herself onto the window seat, prescription still clutched tightly in her hand. She found it hideously ironic that while her body had escaped Wesker's torture relatively unscathed, her mind was in pieces, requiring drugs to simply hold it together enough for her to function. Her body was seized, but it was her mind that fractured.

"Don't claim the prescription."

Her head snapped up, legs pushing her unexpectedly to her feet. This time, the voice was unmistakeably real. But the speaker...she was alone in the restroom.

"Don't do this to yourself," she whispered, shouldering her bag carefully, still aware. "There's nothing there; nobody here."

'You know who's voice that is,' she thought to herself. 'You know it's impossible.'

With trembling hands, she turned to the solitary sink, holding her hands beneath the faucet before pressing her cold, damp fingers to the back of her neck. As her hands trembled, she plunged them into the confines of her bag and pulled out a hair tie. Damp strands clung to her skin, tears dried on her cheeks but not in her hair.

In one swift move, she scooped up her blonde locks, pulling them into a rough high ponytail as a simple means of keeping irritating hair out of her eyes.

It was the movement in the mirror that first caught her eye; a black reflection against the peach decor. In an instinctive motion, her eyes flicked to the shadow...

The hand that flew to her lips barely muffled her scream, and she spun around, back jarring painfully against the sink as she pushed herself as far back into the wall as was possible, and then further.

He was real...as real as her own reflection had been. Everything, from the material of his midnight black outfit to the reflective blonde sheen of his hair. She could not see his eyes behind the shades, but knew that they would be as cold and emotionless as ever.

"You seem surprised to see me," Wesker purred, barely suppressing a smile.

Her instinct to run was inactive. She knew from experience that he was a man you could not run from; merely attempting such an act was not worth the inevitable consequences. He had beaten her black and blue for much less, always knowing that Tricell's cryogenic tubes could heal all that he inflicted in a time frame that would limit the inconvenience of her injuries.

Memories flashed through her mind, each one bearing the brutal sting of a slow dagger piercing her organs.

Darkness engulfed him as she closed her eyes, counting slowly to five before fear got the better of her and she opened them once again.

It was as though he had never been there. And how could he have been? She stood between him and the only possible exit, had not heard footsteps. Albert Wesker was dead; she saw the fragments of his corpse dissolve into lava after the impact of the RPGs. Human or not, there was nothing left of him to survive.

But the tremors that had seized her entire body, paralysing her in unwelcome fear, were evidence that she did not truly believe this assumption. She had seen him with her own eyes! Men like Wesker were soulless; he could not possibly be a spirit hell-bent on continued torment. If he was truly dead, then it meant that she was losing her mind.

In that moment, she did not know which scenario was more terrifying.

* * *

_**June 25, 2009. 11:00am. 504 Tower View Apartments. Washington, D.C.**_

Any guilt Claire may have felt from swiping Leon's spare key fluttered away as she slid it into the door of his apartment, giggling maniacally inside as the lock gave and she was able to step inside.

As fortune would have it, he was not home. Thursdays were half-days for Leon, but he worked hard and would often finish early. As her wonderful boyfriend tended to have a 'shoot first, ask questions later' mentality, she knew that she was taking a risk by letting herself into his apartment unannounced, especially when he did not know that she had a key.

Setting the grocery bag onto the kitchen bench, she took a moment to observe her surroundings. She had clearly not thought this through; evidently, he did not possess much in the way of cooking utensils.

"You have to make everything difficult, don't you?" she sighed. But a quick search turned up an improvised selection of tools with which to cook a lasagne. She told herself that it would barely turn out edible anyway, so it did not matter what she cooked it in, so long as it did not melt in the oven.

"Now where the hell did I put the book?"

A few minutes of sifting through vegetables uncovered the recipe book, the necessary page clearly marked with a pizza leaflet - a contingency plan. It was the first occasion on which she had attempted to cook anything from scratch, having never had the patience to foray into the world of cookery.

"Two hours?" she exclaimed as her eyes scanned the recipe. Two hours was far too long; Leon would be home before lunch was ready.

In retrospect, perhaps she should have read the recipe first and not simply bought the ingredients and hoped for the best. But she would not let such an oversight throw her off her game. She intended to cook, and cook was what she would do.

She set about preparing the ingredients for the ragu first, as per the recipe. Unsure of what Leon liked in terms of vegetables, she decided to just throw it all in and lie about the contents. There as a very good chance that come serving time, she would not even remember what had gone into her inevitably droopy lasagne.

Why had she even decided to cook for him in the first place? Had it been boredom? A day off should not be spent slaving over a likely inedible meal, but she had desperately wanted to do something for him. A crate of beer and take-out hardly held the same sentiment.

Wiping a hand on her apron, she gathered the now-empty packaging in her left and made for his undersized kitchen waste bin. But clumsiness was often in her nature when it came to matters of the home, and her hand caught the lid at an awkward angle, the contents scattered onto the linoleum as it fell.

"Oh, give me a break," she groaned, dropping to her knees. She had barely been through the front door ten minutes, and already she was destroying the place.

Carefully, she righted the waste bin and began depositing every individual piece of trash back where it belonged.

But curiosity got the better of her when her fingertips met charred paper. The address on the envelope was handwritten, which immediately struck her as unusual. Leon often complained about the lack of mail he received; she doubted that he would so casually throw aside a handwritten letter.

'This is wrong,' she told herself as she turned the half-envelope in her hands. But her fingers were already sliding beneath the blackened paper, pulling out the leaves within.

There was not much left of the letter, the flame he had evidently taken to it himself staining most of that which it had not burnt to a crisp. Snippets of words were visible here and there, nothing substantial enough to draw meaning.

She flipped it over, flakes crumbling to ash as she searched for the sign-off, intrigued now to discover the identity of the sender. But when she found what she searched for, eyes falling upon the signature, her heart shuddered to a standstill in her chest, not even its echoes resonating.

_'-ll my love,  
Ada  
xxx'_

Anger was the emotion she had expected to feel flourish within her chest cavity. Pain, perhaps; maybe even hatred.

'If he cared about what she had to say, he would have kept this letter, would have hidden it away,' reason told her.

And for once, Claire listened.

The smile that found its way to her lips was genuine this time, and when her heart spluttered back to life, she was sure that it beat a more cheerful rhythm.

* * *

_**June 25, 2009. 12:30pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA.**_

Chris had been in the study when she returned home, the music of the baby grand following shortly after the gentle slam of the front door. It always started with a few notes, and then a simple tune, the likes of which he had been able to play in high school music lessons. Then came the more complex rhythm as she felt satisfied enough with her warm-up. Für Elise was a favourite these days, Moonlight Sonata falling rapidly from favour with the connotations it now held.

'She always played it so beautifully,' he remembered.

Inevitably, the notes he had heard earlier that day were played; the same few bars over and over again.

With slow steps, he made his way downstairs, deciding to wait in the living area until she was ready to talk. Quite often she would be silent for hours following appointments with Dr. Keller.

It was as he approached the sofa that he caught sight of a foreign object on the fireplace. As he drew closer, he recognised the ultrasound picture that had previously remained in the drawer of the desk within the study. Taken at almost twelve weeks, the gender had been unintelligible but the development remarkable. The shape of the child's head was unmistakeable, as was that of the body, of what he assumed were limbs and even what appeared to be a tiny nose, and shading where he expected the eyes to be.

When tears stung at his eyes, he turned away, searching for something to otherwise occupy his mind. But the picture was not all that was new.

_It was Jill who pulled him into the store, yet she did not seem to be sure of what it was that she wanted. Standing almost aimlessly by the newborn section, her eyes darted from the blue one-pieces to the pink beanies, unsure of which direction to turn._

_"I wish we knew already," she sighed. It was a sentiment that he agreed with in many aspects. Was he to have a daughter or a son? Either way, he would be ecstatic, but the wait to find out was killing him._

_"Isn't it a little too early to be buying things?" he asked. "You've barely started to show."_

_Though he followed with a laugh, she still elbowed him in the ribs._

_"I'm just looking," she defended. "Don't tell me this doesn't make you happy."_

_She snuck a peek over her left shoulder and caught sight of his grin. Even if he cared to try, he could not disguise his happiness. And it was not just for his unborn child; Jill had sported an unmistakeable glow since the day she discovered the pregnancy, and negativity seemed unable to permeate her newly-formed protective bubble. It pleased him more than words could ever say to see her genuinely happy._

_"Oh, Chris," she gasped as she stepped away from his side, reaching for something on a nearby shelf. "Look!"_

_In her hands she held a small white bear, complete with a bright pink nose and pastel blue waistcoat. Despite the colouring of the garment, it carried a unisex appearance. Even he could not deny that it was cute._

_"I have to buy this," she told him. "It's...perfect."_

_Perfection, it may have been, but he knew that she only had seventeen dollars to her name; a fact he was sure to point out. She paused with bated breath whilst she checked the price tag, eye lighting up a moment later._

_"Fifteen dollars," she read. "Even with tax, that's still less than seventeen!"_

_"Jill, think about this," he insisted. While money was short, he knew that she should be spending what little she had on herself, not on a child they would not meet for another six months._

_"I'm thinking," she frowned. "Come on, Chris; look at it! Tell me this doesn't feel right."_

_He averted his eyes from the bear that she held up to him, knowing that he would agree with every word that she spoke._

_"Please let me buy it?"_

_"It's your money," he reminded her with a smile. "I can't tell you how to spend it, and I don't want to."_

_She let out a quiet "Oh" as her eyes dropped to her hands, the bear once again subject to scrutiny. Even now, he found that she still needed the occasional reminder of her freedom. Though she knew that she no longer had to answer to anyone but herself, he feared that on some level she still did not understand this; she did not understand what it meant to be free._

_"But why don't you let me give you the money for this?"_

_"No," she groaned. "I'm not taking anything else from you. You bought me almost a whole new wardrobe, a new piano...even the house is in your name! And you gave me your mother's ring - I know, Claire told me, and by the way, I want to talk to you about that."_

_Chris laughed and pulled her close for a moment to press his lips to her forehead._

_"Okay, first of all, you know you couldn't spend another day camping out in my T-shirts," he pointed out. "I love to hear you play, so the piano was a loaded gift, and the moment your money is cleared, your name is going right next to mine on the deeds. It's really no big deal, Jill. I barely spent a dollar of my salary in the time you were gone, so I have a hell of a lot of money saved up - enough to buy you whatever the hell you want and still see that our child is well taken care of and that we have that big wedding we talked about. And the ring...don't even think about trying to give it back. I know you love it, and though mom never knew you, I know she wanted you to have it. Isn't the fact that you just so happen to be the same size as her proof that it belongs right here?"_

_On the last word, he touched her ring finger gently and she frowned again, knowing that he had won this round._

_"Thank God," she muttered. "Because I really don't want to let this go. But I'm buying the bear with my own money...I want to. I _have_ to."_

The small white bear stared off into the distance, oblivious to its failed intention and the symbolism it now held for both of them. He had no idea that she had kept it, let alone thought to display it alongside the scan.

He wished that she would just _talk_ to him, however painful he knew this would be for himself. They both suffered in silence, but it killed him to see her like this. But no matter how he regretted the pain that her pregnancy had caused them both, he could not bring himself to wish that the child had never been conceived.

"If you...when I touch you like this..."

The voice pulled him from the fireplace, unexpected yet appreciated. The fractured tune became steady, accompanying voice painting the picture of a familiar song.

"They were days when the sun was so cruel," she continued, oblivious, it seemed, to his proximity. "That all the tears turned to dust and I just knew my eyes were drying up forever."

The initial shock of hearing her voice subsided as he took steps towards the source of the music. She was no Celine Dion, but she could carry a tune and her voice was soft and melodic; quite the opposite of what he would have expected. Before he knew it, he was standing in the doorway, watching her as the song tapered to a close as she approached the chorus.

Suddenly, she jumped, sensing his presence in a moment of startling realisation.

"Don't...don't do that!" she warned, though fought to keep a smile from her words.

"I'm sorry," he apologised. And suddenly he was at her side, sliding onto the piano bench before she could warn him not to.

"It's all coming back to me now," she grinned, laughing at apparent stupidity that he failed to see.

"I'm glad," he congratulated as he placed a hand on her knee, squeezing gently for good measure.

"No, no!" she laughed, waving the hand that just moments before had wiped at a surprisingly dry eye. "The song - It's All Coming Back To Me Now. I can't believe...of all the songs I could have forgotten! It's like waking up and not knowing what Bohemian Rhapsody is."

Chris scoffed at this, opinions of his own forming.

"_Nobody_ can forget Bohemian Rhapsody," he argued. "It's probably the only song I can play on the piano."

She turned to him then, eyebrow raised in an almost sarcastic manner.

"_You_ can play Queen?"

Without offering a verbal reply, he nudged her over a little, and positioned his fingers carefully over the keys. The melody came together for approximately six notes before a pause became filled with laughter.

"That's all I know," he revealed, prompting her to elbow him amicably. "I never claimed I could play piano! Guitar was my weapon of choice. It's been years since I played."

"Why don't you take it up again?" she suggested, more enthusiasm to her tone than he had heard in quite some time.

He considered agreeing; he had never been all that good but he had enjoyed it to an extent. But he knew that he did not have the patience to sit and revise all that had been forgotten. It was a shame, because he saw in her suggestion one of the very few ins that she provided these days. They could play together, could engage in something mutual and maybe, just maybe, it would be enough of a boost for her to climb one step higher on the steep ascent to recovery.

"Why don't you teach me how to play piano?" he countered.

She seemed to consider the idea for a few moments before she took his right hand and positioned the fingers above several keys.

"We learn _real_ music, okay?" she stated. "No stupid jingles or heavy metal covers."

Though he tried to think of a smart reply, he was too consumed by the moment to concentrate on anything other than the touch of her fingertips to the back of his hand. It was amazing just how much smaller her hands were, how pale the tone of her skin was against his. Though she had slowly been regaining colour since her return, her skin was still a porcelain shade that he had yet to tell her he loved. Her hands bore the evidence of years in the field, with tiny scars dotted across the bone of her knuckles. Though her fingernails were still long, he could see that she had been chewing them, had even been chewing on the skin around her fingers. She was trembling, too, though he sensed that she was not aware. Yes, her hands bore evidence of battles previously fought, but also those that were still ongoing.

Without thinking, he brought one hand to his lips, pressing soft kisses to the knuckles. She watched his actions with intense curiosity, as though she attempted to figure out exactly what he was doing and why he felt that he needed to do it. Barely moving, somehow the distance between them began to close, until he could feel her breath upon his lips.

"You look beautiful today," he whispered.

And suddenly, she pulled back.

"Jill..."

"Don't," she begged. "I'm not...I'm not upset. I...Dr. Keller wants us to see a counsellor."

He was thrown by the sudden change in conversation, but this new information intrigued him. There was little doubt as to why Jill's psychologist wished for them to go through therapy together; evidently, the subject of the miscarriage had been brought up. But what then did that mean? She had obviously brought up something that steered the doctor to the conclusion that they needed help.

"Okay," he agreed, not caring what the terms and conditions were. "If it will help, then okay. You know I'd do anything for you...for _us_."

She seemed surprised by his premature agreement, but nodded in acceptance.

"You don't have to feel obligated," she whispered. As she spoke these words, her fingers touched upon her engagement ring, as though waiting to remove it at a moment's notice.

"Hey!" he spoke softly as he slid his fingers back into her hair, turning her head towards him. "There is no obligation here. I know that things have been difficult since...since what happened. But I want to work through this with you."

Again, her eyes left his.

"I'm not the same woman who fell out of that window," she insisted. "I've changed, and it's not for the better. My feelings for you remain the same, but I understand if yours have changed. I want you to be with me because you love me, not out of obligation."

"What?" he gasped, unable to comprehend what he had just heard. It was as though she had finally addressed the elephant in the room, only to talk about an actual purple polka dot elephant. It did not make any sense at all. "Do...Do you think I am with you out of _obligation_?"

Tears began to cascade down her cheeks, and in her silence he found his answer. It was hurt that settled in, churning his insides in an agonising manner. He was quite sure that words had never before caused him so much pain.

"Look at me!" he insisted, placing fingers beneath her chin so that he could tilt her head upwards to face him. "We have both changed, okay? That's what trauma does: it _changes_ people. But it doesn't change who we are, and I still see the woman I fell head over heels in love with, even if she can't see her own beautiful reflection. I _love_ you, Jill Valentine. I wouldn't have asked you to marry me if I wasn't one hundred percent sure that I want to spend the rest of my fucked up life with you. I would stand by you at every step of the recovery process even if all you were to me was a friend. Maybe on some level that is obligation, but don't you _dare_ ever suggest that my love for you is."

Before she could reply, he smashed his lips against hers, wanting to prove his love the only way he knew how. Kissing her was like pressing his lips to a cloud, so soft was her caress. Even in the heat of furious passion, there was still a kind gentleness about her touch; the polar opposite of what he expressed in such moments. It was a union of heaven and hell; something so divinely sinful. But he no longer knew who represented what. When they had first met, she was an innocent compared to him, experienced yet still somewhat shy in matters of affection. Now, she had opened up and he was surprised to find that beneath that seemingly innocent exterior lay a curious beast that he had yet to regret unleashing. She was a fallen angel in his arms, but there was still something so pure about her. And he lapped it up with very little hesitation.

But suddenly, her grip changed. She broke the kiss, but took the material of his T-shirt into her hands, breaths erratic as her eyes fixated on a point somewhere behind him. In an instant, he spun around, eliciting a frightened cry from the woman in his arms, which caused her to dive for him, clinging to his torso for dear life.

He followed the direction of her gaze, but saw nothing but the off-white of the far wall. Jill's chest heaved against his own amidst heavy gulps of air, his balance threatened now that she was almost in his lap.

"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, knowing better than to question her. But her eyes remained fixed on nothing, an expression of fear the likes of which he had never witnessed in her eyes. His arms encircled her and finally she broke her line of sight, burying her face into the crook of his neck. Her entire body was shaking, unsteady breaths both felt and heard.

Something had spooked her, and now there was no detaching her from himself. The embrace that he held her in was secure, with her form folding easily into his. But her breathing did not quiet down, and suddenly he realised that she was having difficulty simply drawing breath.

'Shit, she's having a panic attack,' he realised, finding that his own tremors were not simply a reflection of hers. No matter how hard he tried to push her away to allow her more space to breathe, she refused to let go. Instead, he was left to gently stroke her back and her hair, attempting to remember the basic field medical training that the BSAA had put them all through.

"It's okay," he repeated slowly. "It's okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Just breathe with me...just breathe."

He then began to adjust his own breathing, exaggerating every intake and expulsion of air so that she could feel his chest move beneath hers. It did not take long for her rhythm to match his, and for her desperate hands to relinquish their hold on his T-shirt.

The trembling in her limbs did not cease even after the other symptoms subsided. At the first opportunity, he chanced another quick look over his shoulder. But still, there was nothing, was no sign that anything had ever stood in that corner. They were alone in the house, as they always were, and she did not usually frighten this easily.

There was something very wrong with this situation, he knew that. But there was nothing he could do, nothing he could provide her with save a little comfort and the reassurance of love.

Holding her close to him, he hoped that this would be enough.

* * *

_**June 25, 2009. 1:30pm. 504 Tower View Apartments. Washington, D.C.**_

The lasagne sat cooling on the side when Claire finally heard a key turn in the lock. She considered for a moment hiding from him, but knew that it would not end well and so decided against foolishness.

"Hey," Leon greeted when he laid eyes upon her, a smile rushing immediately to his features.

She at least extended the courtesy of waiting until he dropped his belongings onto the sofa before tackling him with an embrace that almost sent them both crashing to the floor. Lips met clumsily, and the kiss that followed fell into the lower ranks of those experienced since the beginning of their relationship, but neither party complained.

"Wow," Leon slurred when she finally allowed him to breathe. "If I knew you missed me this much, I wouldn't have stayed behind."

Though she had deposited Ada's letter back into the bowels of the waste bin, its image was still burned firmly into her mind. Mentally, she had weighed up the possible meaning of his destruction of the letter, but every equation led to the result that deeply pleased her.

"Is that...lasagne?" he questioned, picking up the scent of home cooking. "What's the occasion?"

Claire shrugged, grinning like an idiot.

"No occasion," she chirped. "I just thought I'd surprise you."

A surprise, it seemed, that pleased its recipient, as he moved his hands to her waist and pulled her hips into his, putting her in a position where the three and a half inches he had on her seemed significant in an almost frightening manner.

"Well, consider me surprised."

Rather than fish for affection, he simply smiled down at her, calm as she reached up to touch the smooth skin of his jaw. He always appeared so physically different when they were alone, she noted. There was no frown upon his lips, no furrowing of his brow. The hard lines of his features softened, and that hawk-like quality of his gaze seemed less threatening. He smiled more, too. She liked to think that it was the effect she had on him, but told herself not to be so egotistical.

Their relationship had not been given the most conventional of starts, and for a long time she had believed that she was simply the easiest option for him in terms of affection. Friendship had evolved into something more seemingly out of nowhere and there was always the issue of Ada. Leon rarely spoke of the agent, and Claire never asked of her. She was content with affection, despite knowing that her feelings for Leon ran deep. It was enough just having someone to hold through the hardest times, but she had come to the obvious realisation that her love for him would not disappear overnight, nor would his feelings for her intensify so quickly. She wanted more with him than she had, and it was the memory of Ada that had stood in the way.

But not anymore.

"I found the letter," she admitted, wondering a split-second later why she had said such a thing. Leon's expression matched her expectations, and she found herself thinking quickly to attempt to diffuse a potentially explosive situation.

"I knocked over the trash," she explained. "I couldn't help myself when I saw it; you know how I am."

"Claire, I never read that letter," he defended, still holding onto her waist. "I'm done with her; I don't care what she has to say. She had her chance and she didn't act on it. I am happy with you...happier than I have been in a long time."

He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers as he spoke this final sentence, and he spoke it as though the realisation had only came to him in that moment.

"I know," she whispered. "And I'm glad."

When her lips touched his again, she could almost feel the electricity at the point of contact. Sometimes she wondered exactly how she had held out on him so long; he was an undeniably handsome man and the sheer sexual attraction between them both was explosive. They had already explored beneath one another's clothes, and so knew exactly what the potential was. The muscle tees that left little to the imagination still held no bearing on what lay beneath.

He wore a standard white shirt today, but her fingertips still drifted beneath the cotton, moving down to hook themselves beneath the waistline of his slacks.

"The lasagne will be getting cold," he panted, forcibly separating himself from her. She could tell that she was beginning to get to him, and the simple thought of it thrilled her to the core.

"Fuck the lasagne," she smiled. "I have something much...much...better."

She pulled away from him on the last word, stepping backwards towards the bedroom. Or at least in the direction she knew the bedroom to be. He was hesitant at first, seemingly unsure how to react, but after a few achingly long seconds, she almost saw the mental switch. No longer wondering if this was right, his mind seemed to scold him for even considering passing up such an opportunity. Claire couldn't care less what his reasons for submitting to her may be, so long as he did.

Her deft fingers unbuttoned his shirt before their bodies met, Leon taking charge of the kiss this time. The pressure introduced a toxic charge to her skin, and she felt it short out every nerve that it touched, her body becoming weak in his arms. They parted only to allow for her T-shirt to be cast aside, his fingers reaching for the clasp of her bra before the kiss had even resumed.

The immaculately-made bed suddenly rose up to meet them, the covers barely disturbed by their movements. For a moment, Claire disconnected from reality, realising that she had never before made love in such an organised room. Bad boys shunned chores, and though Leon was not of the calibre some of her previous lovers had been, she had assumed that he fell at least partially into this category.

Her thoughts returned with a resounding impact when he raised her arms above her head, pinning her half-naked to the mattress with his surprisingly heavy form. His lips blazed a trail against the skin of her neck, teasing her down to her shoulder and then back up again. It was not simply sensations that wracked her body; emotion too seized her, spread through her veins with enough potency to disable all coherent thought. She had never felt this way about anyone before, and it admittedly frightened her. She never gave herself away so easily, and certainly never handed control completely to her partner. But there was simply nothing she could do but lay there, barely even putting up a fight as his lips worked their magic, touching upon hers again after what seemed like a lifetime of torture.

"I love you," she breathed as he moved over her, the muscular planes of his chest brushing against her uncovered breasts.

Silence.

Leon seemed as a rabbit in the headlights of a truck, terrified of what he saw but transfixed nonetheless. And then, he kissed her again, releasing her wrists to fully utilise his hands for the purpose of exploration.

But Claire was having none of it, and pulled away suddenly, covering herself as she found her way to an upright position. She found it painfully ironic that she could not cover the one exposed part of her that caused her embarrassment at that moment. Her heart, open for the world to see.

"Aren't you going to say something?" she asked. She could feel all that he felt for her, had been so sure that his feelings mirrored her own. But each passing second of silence was a tiny incision to the exposed muscle. Death by a thousand lashes, it seemed.

"What do you want me to say?" he wondered, fighting for breath.

And there was the final cut.

She propelled herself off the bed, reaching for her bra and T-shirt as she shielded her face from view. Tears were inevitable, she could feel them coming. But she would be damned if she would give him the satisfaction of seeing them.

"Claire!" he protested. He reached out for her, only to be pushed away in hurt confusion.

She had been so sure... What then did the letter mean? If he had truly closed his heart to Ada, had he closed it to every other woman too? If that were the case, Claire knew that she did not want to be on the outside, nor did she want to share with the ghost of what could have been. She was open for a lot of things, but not this…

"You shouldn't have needed to ask that question!" she scolded, rushing out of the bedroom. But he was faster than she, and caught her in his arms before she reached the door to his apartment.

"Forget I said it, alright," she tried, feeling the first tear slip. "I'll call you."

"No!" he growled, gripping her now by the upper arms. "Claire, at least stay and talk about this. Please! You mean too much to me to just watch you walk away."

She considered it for a nanosecond, but realised that she was in no state for emotional conversation. She was hurt and she was angry, and she was also a Redfield. The three made for an explosive combination and there was a part of her that still saw sense, that realised that this was not the end, despite what her clouded judgement may have told her.

"I'll call you," she insisted, knowing that she would but unsure of what she would say.

His fingers slipped from her arms when she pulled away, speaking not another word as she left him to his thoughts. And right then, her own were troubling enough.

**AN - Please review :).**


	4. Falling Like Snow

**AN** - I had hoped that this chapter would not turn out to be as long as the last, but the longest chapters always seem to be the ones I don't feel I can cut in half -_-;. This chapter is quite Jill heavy, as is the next one, just to give you all a heads up. We're roughly halfway through the first part of the story now so things are really going to start picking up in terms of what she is dealing with. Chapter title is from Dead On The Floor by Alkaline Trio ^_^.

Once again, huge thanks to everyone who reviewed since last chapter - _Kenshin13, JediZero, Ninja-Gnome, xSummonerYunax, Black Metalmark, 86, tek, Ivilith _and _Ceylon_ - and to everyone who favourited! Time permitting, I want to try to get back into the swing of replying. Thank you!

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

_**Chapter Three**__ - Falling Like Snow_

_'The fact of the matter is both our hearts shatter way too God damn easily.'_

_**July 2, 2009. 12:23am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA.**_

She was pulled from her nightmare once again by the piercing shriek of her own scream. They were more vivid now; she could not always tell that she was indeed dreaming, and they were not so much nightmares as memories. Sadly, that only made them all the more frightening.

The usual arm did not reach for her and so she turned to the side, reaching out to touch warmth that did not meet her fingertips. In fact, there was no sign that he had ever been there.

"Perhaps he ran away?" Wesker theorised, chuckling softly to himself. She flinched at the sound of his voice but made no effort to move other than to pull the sheets up to her chin. His presence was almost commonplace now, though that did not mean it was welcomed.

"Maybe he just couldn't stand fucking you again like he did last night," he sneered as he drew closer. "He can't honestly enjoy it anymore...if he ever did."

She had neither the patience nor will to deal with him today, and so she climbed out of the bed, sure to crawl across so that she was not required to brush past him.

Chris was the only man on her mind, and with a quick glance to the alarm clock, she knew that something was surely wrong if he was out so late. After all, he had claimed he would be no later than ten. Being alone terrified her, but several of his old Air Force buddies had travelled down in their short period of leave to see him, and she truly did not want to keep him from such a reunion.

'You know how soldiers can be,' she sighed inwardly. 'It's always "Just one more, I swear!" and the next thing you know it's last orders.'

It was true that she feared for Chris's behaviour in a bar. Oh, she knew that he would never cheat on her; it was the alcohol that posed the problem. Almost three crates of beer had been consumed since their last visit to the liquor store. While never appeared visibly drunk, it said nothing about the volume that he consumed; it took a lot to take a man his size down. But she could not kiss him without tasting the dull toxicity of beer upon his lips, could not make love to him without feeling like a desperate prom date.

Regardless of the state she knew he would be in when he returned, she knew that she had to wait up for him. Aside from the worry that would keep her awake for hours, she could never sleep when Wesker was around. Somehow, Chris's embrace always chased him away, and there was no more soothing warmth to ease her into slumber.

The tyrant was waiting for her downstairs, as she expected. He was always there to taunt her, and the more she ignored him the worse it became. The fear had faded a little since their first encounter, but it remained as background noise, urging her to run, assuring her that standing her ground would do no good. He had won this sick war long ago, and they both knew it.

"You can't deny it," he teased. It took her a moment to realise that he had decided to continue his previous line of abuse. "You don't even make love anymore; you just lie there and let him work."

She gripped the glass she reached for in her hand so tight that she feared it may shatter. Without emotion, she filled it with water and knocked back a mouthful. His words meant nothing, she could not react.

"Then again, that body aborted his child."

"Shut the _fuck_ up!" she screamed, resisting every urge to throw the glass in his direction. He was not worth the waste.

It was with distaste that he looked upon her, evidently not swayed by her outburst.

"You don't know _anything_," she told him.

"Then deny it," he interjected before she could speak the next word upon her tongue.

She could feel his eyes burning into hers through those shades and turned away. Catching his eye was always a mistake. He did not like it; it was a sign that she felt equal to or better than him and he had spent every waking moment ensuring that he cared even for the mindless Majini before he considered her. He had scraped things off the sole of his boot with more care than he showed her.

But she found that she could not deny his words. Making love to Chris had always been in a different league to her previous encounters with men; the physical side was phenomenal in itself, but she had never felt such a strong emotional connection with anyone in her life. He would kiss her and she would melt, would whisper in her ear and she would find herself on a plane that transcended the physical. But now...the emotion was there, but diluted, and she could barely feel the physical. Where she could rarely hold herself back from orgasm, now she needed assistance to feel anything at all.

"Are you ignoring me?"

She jumped at the sudden sound of his voice, her free arm moving defensively to her waist.

"So what if you're right?" she asked meekly, disgusted as the words came out. Her sex life was none of his business, nor was any other aspect of her life. "It doesn't change anything."

"It does for him," he pointed out. "He hates you. I've told you before, Jill; you're worthless. Now he sees it too. Everything I did to you, it was only for the best."

"For the best?" she challenged, voice trembling at every syllable. "You _destroyed_ me! I don't even know who I am anymore."

All Wesker did was laugh, and take further steps towards her. There was nowhere for her to run; only the locked screen doors that led to the back garden. She had left the keys upstairs, but even if she had them with her, where would she run?

"You are still alive," he spoke, deadpan. "You spoke of death so often, yet you are still here. Why? Because of Chris?"

Jill poured more cold water down her throat, heart racing. Another step was taken towards the doors as Wesker moved again. He would catch up eventually. He always did.

"You ruined his life, Jill. After two and a half years, surely he had begun to lay your memory to rest. But you came back, and now you are torturing him with your presence."

She did not like what he implied. The thought had crossed her mind on more than one occasion, but then she considered his trip to Africa, his fight to free her...he would not have risked certain death for anything less than love. She knew from the emotions he displayed in their time spent together after her rescue that he had not even attempted to resolve her memory.

"You hold no importance to anyone anymore," Wesker informed her. "Not even to me. You begged for death so often, why not welcome it?"

"W-What?"

Her mind could not accept his words. She did not know if it was their absurdity or the fact that death was never on the cards with him, but something struck her about his words.

"Kill yourself," he suggested, as casually as though he were suggesting she make him a cup of coffee.

By this point, her hands were shaking so terribly that she was forced to place the glass onto the stable counter. Kill herself? After two and a half years of denying her such release, why would he now encourage it? She did not have much now, but she was not willing to lose any of it. Fighting was easier now that she was allowed to throw her own punches. Despite the pain that often encouraged her thoughts down such a dark avenue, she would not give up so long as there was an ounce of strength left within her. While depleted, she knew that there was enough left for now.

"You have no control over me," she snarled through gritted teeth. It was an exercise Dr. Keller had advised her to repeat in moments of weakness; one she claimed was to encourage her to regain control of her own life. It seemed appropriate, though every word came with an equal weight of fear. "You have no claim to my life - you never did."

There was a quiet moment before he moved, hand suddenly at her neck. He did not squeeze, nor did he grip in any way. It was simply there, resting on her clavicle, her throat caught in the curve between his thumb and forefinger. But it was enough. She choked on the very air that she breathed, too afraid to reach for those long fingers. All strength escaped with the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

"I _own_ you," he hissed. "Every part of you. I always will."

A terrified cry escaped her lips when his drew close to her ear. She tried to turn, but she could not move far enough. Though she could feel no breath against her skin, she could feel him there, and could feel herself slipping against the counter. She knew that he could do whatever he chose to her, and she would be powerless to stop him. That was how it had always been. For months she had fought against him, against the control he placed upon her, but her will had eventually been eroded. She knew that her situation was hopeless, that escape was impossible and that nobody would come for her. All she had known was the degrading life he had handed her, sleeping every night in a cold cell and waking to a refreshed dose of P30.

But not all of her time in Africa was spent subdued. In fact, she doubted that even half of that time had been spent in forced servitude. First, there were the weeks spent in the hospital in Europe, recovering from her injuries. Once she was well enough to travel, she had been taken to Africa and placed in that damn tube for months to speed up the natural healing process. When she had awoken, she barely recognised herself. Blonde, virtually without scars and paler than she had ever been in her life. She did not know how long she spent at his mercy, her strength, will and determination slowly eroded. He had told her in the hospital of his desire to use her as a test subject, but she could not understand what cruel experiment he was conducting. But by the time he finally introduced the P30 to her system, there was barely any strength left within her to fight. But fight she did, and she had almost escaped on several occasions. Over time, fighting became more difficult, acts that she was forced to carry out haunting every second of her day. The only way to tune out their screams was to turn off her mind...and she fought no more.

It both shocked and terrified her to discover that she had only been held for two and a half years; it had felt like decades to her. But one moment in hell is enough to last a lifetime.

"You remember," he chuckled in her ear. "You're _weak_, Valentine. I can feel you trembling."

"Please..." she begged, her tears now painful.

The front door suddenly slammed and she jumped, attention drawn to the arch that led into the dining area.

'Chris!'

When she turned back, Wesker was nowhere to be seen. But still she ran through to the front door, catching sight of her fiancé attempting to steady himself against the doorframe as he locked the door he had evidently just stumbled through.

He was heavily intoxicated; she could tell from the way that he swayed on the spot. But when she drew closer she paused barely a foot in front of him, catching sight of bruising on his jaw, of blood crusting on his lip.

"Chris..." she breathed. She could not resist reaching up, touching her fingertips gently to his wounds. He flinched against the contact, but did not push her away. "What happened? Are you okay?"

It was an absurd question. With his foul temper and a penchant for green, his impressive musculature had earned him several 'Hulk' jibes from his sister, and Jill could not dispute this little joke. He may have been kind and loving in the eyes of his friends and family, but he took no nonsense and was without a doubt the toughest man she knew. His 'home' persona and his 'work' persona rarely overlapped at all. Her own strength had improved due to the frequent training that Wesker put her through, but even she was no match for him without the aid of the chemical.

She worried for the other man in the fight, knowing that when Chris threw a punch, he held nothing back. Shortly after their return to the States, he had taken her out for a few drinks after a joint belated birthday and anniversary meal he insisted they go on. The night had went well until she felt confident enough to walk to the bar herself, only to be immediately hit on by a drunken stranger. He was insistent and she had been jumpy by instinct, and it hadn't taken long for Chris to realise that something was wrong. Prior to her captivity, she would have handled the guy on her own and left him with a bruised ego but little else, but now... Harsh words had been exchanged by both men, and though they had initially walked away, the word 'whore' had been unfortunately thrown in her direction. The man's jaw had broken, and she knew Chris was lucky that he didn't press charges.

Though she had succeeded in taming his temper somewhat over the years, all bets were off when the insult was personal...and there was nothing more personal to Chris than his family and friends.

"You should see him," he laughed, but then frowned when she sighed at his words. "Hey, he threw the first punch!"

His words were so slurred that she could barely make out the meaning, and so she offered him an arm for balance, glad that he did not rest his full weight upon her as they walked.

"Bastard sure as hell didn't throw the last."

She ignored his comment as they limped up the stairs, Chris almost turning in the wrong direction once they reached the top.

"This way, big guy," she instructed. She knew that she should have been furious at him, but could not find it in her to admonish him. She was no good at confrontation these days. And the truth of it all was that she was just glad to have him back.

She kicked the bedroom door closed behind her and pushed him carefully towards the bed, her fingers working at the buckle of his belt as they moved. It was by pure luck that she succeeded in pulling his jeans down far enough before he dropped onto the edge of the bed. It felt something like undressing a child in time for bed, but it was not the first time she had done such a thing for him.

It was her initial intention to leave his shirt, but as she moved closer to him she caught the scent of beer, and knew it was likely that something had spilled on him during the fight. He attempted to help her in removing the offending item, but only succeeded in losing his balance so that he plummeted to the mattress once she had removed the garment. By the time she turned back to him, he appeared to be resigning himself to sleep.

Lifting his legs was more difficult than she had assumed, but fortunately he adjusted himself into a more comfortable position; there was no way she would have succeeded in lifting his heavy torso.

"C'mere, pretty girl," he slurred, fingers slipping past the waistband of her bed shorts and pulling her onto him before she could protest. It was by sheer luck that she managed to swing her legs over him so that they lay face to face and side by side on the soft mattress.

The kisses that he pressed to her nose and across her cheek were sloppy, but he was strong even in his drunken stupor and there was simply no pulling away. But eventually he stopped, and his expression settled into one of seriousness.

"I love you," he muttered. "Why do you think that's obligation?"

Despite a renewed attempt to pull free, he maintained his grip on her. He was far stronger, and when he chose to use that strength, there was not a damn thing she could do. But honesty...in this situation, she knew that it would hurt. For the past week, there had been something between them that she did not understand. Hesitance, maybe. Perhaps even shame. But now she knew.

A flippant remark fuelled by dangerous emotion had lingered in his mind where she had simply brushed it aside. She could see now how much that remark had hurt him. And his strangely unguarded eyes pulled the truth from her like a splinter from flesh.

"Because I don't understand how you can," she whispered meekly.

She had expected his anger to flare, and the usual complaint of her constant, prevailing negativity.

"But I think the same about you," he sighed. At the very least, it was not what she had been expecting. "I was an arrogant little shit when I met you, but in my eyes you were always...way out of my league."

Jill found this hard to believe. Oh, the arrogant part was believable enough, but she had never felt out of his league. If anything, she felt inadequate next to the girls he was always seen with.

"Look at me, Jill," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow, eyelids fighting to remain open. "I'm nothing special...but you are. Sometimes I don't understand why you love me, but I don't care - because you do, and that's enough. Instead of searching for reasons you would never understand, make your own if that's what you need."

Though the pillow beneath her eyes was moist, she smiled in spite of herself. He was a surprisingly poetic drunk compared to the brash, gutter-minded mess she had witnessed on many occasions in Raccoon. Perhaps it was her? She tried to dismiss the idea, but something in the back of her mind held on to it and refused to let it go. Because he loved her, and she found that when she discarded the need for reasoning, she not only believed it; she could _feel_ it.

"Reasons like what?" she asked with laughter upon her voice.

His eyes were closed now, his grip weakening as sleep slowly claimed him. But he still succeeded in letting out a slurry of words that resembled an indifferent grunt.

"You're dynamite in bed," he spoke very slowly, not even opening one of his eyes. "If that helps."

The heat of his body overwhelmed her as she buried her face into his chest, disguising the sudden blush that rose to her cheeks. It was a physical reason and not what she had been searching for, but she realised that it provided a good anchor.

"You're hot," he continued. "Funny, kind...great ass."

"Okay, stop," she begged through laughter. "I get it."

And as sleep washed over them both, she failed to register a rush of something wonderful within. Laughter filled her mind, seeping into her dreams; there was not a negative thought in sight.

If Chris ever asked for a reason of his own, there was no better example than the calm he had brought to her mind.

* * *

_**July 2, 2009. 1:00pm. 108 Oakville Apartments. Alexandria, VA.**_

Claire's apartment had always been spotless on Leon's previous visits, though now it was evident that she was only tidy when expecting visitors. He had called first, though he was unsure if he was not met with an answer because she was out or because she was avoiding him. Either seemed a likely scenario. But it had been going on a week since they had last spoken, and the promised phone call had led nowhere. She would not return his calls, and she was not answering her cell phone no matter if he called from home or the office.

He was not waiting long when she returned, jumping at once when she set eyes on him, flicking with curiosity through an old issue of Cosmo she had left on the coffee table.

"How the hell did you get in?" she demanded, almost dropping the bags she held. "I didn't give you a key!"

"No you didn't," he confirmed. "Jill...taught me a few things. You won't return my calls, Claire; what else was I supposed to do?"

"How about _not_ breaking and entering?" she suggested. "I don't care if you're immune from prosecution or whatever; I'll kick your ass if you do it again!"

There was no bitterness in her words, just simple shock, and so he knew that he was at least starting in a good place.

"We need to talk."

'Stating the obvious there, aren't you Kennedy?'

To his surprise, she did not immediately flee for her bedroom or demand that he leave. Instead, she dropped her shopping by the door and slowly stepped over to where he sat, positioning herself on the furthest sofa cushion from him.

"I don't know what to say to you, Leon," she sighed, running fingers through her hair. "It's not that I didn't call because I didn't want to talk. I honestly don't know what to say."

"Then why don't I start?"

He knew that this would all be easier if she just sat back and allowed him to speak. His words were prepared, but he did not want to argue with her. His head had been a mess since that night, his heart unusually quiet. Three simple words had choked him, had drawn the final bolt on the iron cage that bound his heart.

But the words that he had prepared appeared to have escaped whilst he was looking the other way. There was not even a scrap of the script left; he was sure that he heard crickets.

"Do you love me?" she asked, doubtlessly tired with the silence.

'Yes.' His mind spoke the word, but his vocal cords froze. Why was it so difficult to speak what he felt every time he thought of her? He adored her and every thing about her, yet he could not tell her. He could not tell her how he would rather sit for hours simply holding her than be forced to share her presence with others, how his heart bled through the bars as the silence formed an answer in her mind.

"I can't commit to a 'maybe'," she sniffed, reaching into her pocket for a tissue before he could offer one. "Call it growing older or whatever... Chris is getting married now and it has made me think a lot about what I want. I turned thirty a couple of months ago; I want to think about settling down. I do love you, Leon, but if we don't have a future-"

"We do!" he insisted, but without the heart to back him up. "It's just a word. Doesn't what we feel speak for itself?"

He was content in what they had, and so far it had seemed that she was too. Content yet hesitant; perhaps he should have looked deeper into her feelings? Something held her back in all aspects of their relationship, but what exactly it was eluded him. Their relationship had begun following Chris's departure; now that he was back, was it no longer necessary in her mind?

"Why are you so insecure, Claire?" he asked, bitterness not entirely ignored.

She did not reply verbally at first, but turned to him incredulously. He could almost hear her thoughts, but chose to ignore them. He needed answers.

"If there is anyone who should be worrying about the integrity of this relationship, it's me," he continued as irritation mounted. "I have given us everything I can but it never seems to be enough. What do you want? Tell me, because I'm running out of excuses here."

It seemed that he had hit a nerve, and she was on her feet before the impact of his words weighed down on him. He regretted not a single one of them, but knew that now was perhaps not the best time to speak his mind.

"Maybe I _am_ insecure," she retorted. "Maybe I _am_ hesitant when it comes to us, but I was your friend before I was your girlfriend, Leon. Can you honestly blame me for being this way?"

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He stood before her now, challenging her in every aspect.

"I know what you're like with women," she sighed. "I've lost count of the shallow conquests, but I never paid much attention to it...until Angela. She was a nice girl, Leon, and she liked you. Three weeks and suddenly you lose her number?"

It was none of her business, pure and simple. He knew that while his dedication to his job had cost him the possibility of anything with Angela, he knew that his feelings for Claire had played some part in the sabotage. The only reason he had called her back in the first place was because of Claire's insistence. But when he considered his relationship with the latter, he came to realise that in the sixth months they had been a couple in some respect, she had not once shown any indication of loving him until she spoke the words.

"What about Ada?" she asked when he did not reply. "Do you still love her, is that it? Am I just another Angela? Something to tide you over until you find the strength to crawl back to her?"

Leon did not anger easily, but her words riled him almost to fury. Ada was a touchy subject and she knew it.

"Whatever my feelings for Ada were, they are irrelevant!" he barked, rounding on her. "I cut her loose; she is no longer part of my life and I don't ever want her to be! You are the one who is frightened to commit, damn it, and until you shake off your insecurities there won't even be the _opportunity_ for a future together. I care about you Claire, more than you know. But if you don't start trying as far as we're concerned, I'm going to stop because this is a hell of a lot of work, even for love."

He knew that she would have more to say, but he took her stunned silence as an opportunity and made for the door. He despised the way that anger made him feel, and he knew that hatred would transfer onto her, however temporarily, if he did not leave now. If there was anything he wanted to feel with her, it was not hatred, never hatred.

Just how much work should one expect to put into a relationship? And how long would that relationship last when the effort seemed entirely one-sided? Though he did not know where his hesitation to hold her close and whisper in her ear how he loved her came from, theories were beginning to surface.

"Call me when you're ready to talk again," he requested. "I'm not chasing you this time."

* * *

_**July 2, 2009. 2:05pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA.**_

The shower did little to ease Chris's hangover. If anything, the continuous pounding of water against skin only served to exacerbate his symptoms. Everything was a little hazy after eleven. Vague memories of a fight returned occasionally, and of him forcing drunken kisses upon his fiancée.

'I need to apologise for that,' he chuckled inwardly. But she had not complained as far as his memory allowed him to recall.

It was strange how the most striking flashback was one of a demand. How could she deny his love? He remembered her reply, remembered the genuine self-hatred in her voice. Though he had known that her self-esteem had taken a knock both since her disappearance and since the miscarriage, he had never thought that it would fall so far.

He shut the shower off as he reached for a towel, listening for anything that would confirm her presence back in their bedroom. He never locked the door when he showered; he never had any reason to, and shortly after the move he had discovered that failure to lock the bathroom door often resulted in something he could not complain about. Surprised though he was to acknowledge it, it was not the days she would climb in to join him that left him with a smile on his face; it was those days that she would slip into the bathroom unheard and scrawl messages onto the steamed-up mirror. It was a quirk doubtlessly initiated by the glee over her pregnancy, and one that warmed his heart. Not only that, it was a sign that, despite everything that had happened, he had not lost her.

There was no message this time, and so he wiped the mirror clean with his towel to inspect a tender spot on his jaw.

'At least the stubble covers it,' he realised. His friends would be less likely to notice. The last thing he wanted was a series of irritating questions thrown his way.

He was not proud of his drunken actions, but the state of inebriation had been an unexpectedly pleasant one. Nothing mattered anymore; not the miscarriage, not the lingering guilt from almost three years past. There was no Jill or Claire to protect, just him and his wonderfully unsteady world.

The thought lingered on his mind as he found his way into clean clothes and made the bed, surprised to find that he could not hear the baby grand.

'I think it was obvious you'd have a hangover this morning...she was just being thoughtful.'

Somehow, there was a spring in his step as he headed downstairs, something from the previous night that he just could not remember powering positive thought.

Maybe this was the reason he did not call her name, and followed unfamiliar sounds into the kitchen. She held something in her hand when he approached, lost in a world of her own. But his footsteps were not light and she registered his approach with a sudden jump as she stuffed something hastily into a nearby drawer and positioned herself directly in front of it.

"Do we not have a rule about sneaking up on people?" she scolded. "Because I really think we should."

He smiled in spite of her attitude and stepped forwards to press a kiss to her lips, trapping her body against the bench with his own.

"I'm sorry," he apologised with another kiss to her nose. "But I have one hell of a hangover and I knew one look at my beautiful girl would cure it."

He was surprised to find that she smiled at his compliment, but did not move to return his embrace or his kiss.

"_Your_ girl?" she asked.

And there was the mistake. He felt the colour drain from his face, a weight sinking to the pit of his stomach.

"Oh God," he muttered. "Jill, I didn't mean it! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"No!" she insisted, a wild expression of sudden panic in her eyes. "I'm not- I- At least you'll take care of me, right?"

Her expression did not soften, but his did and he could no nothing but smile weakly with a hand stroking her right cheek with the back of gently curled fingers.

"Of course I will," he agreed softly. "But you are nobody's property."

Though she nodded, he could tell that she did not believe him. And how could he blame her? After all she had been through, all she knew was to belong to anyone but herself, to be restricted to unfair rules and punished harshly for breaking them.

"Did you see Dr. Keller this morning?" he asked. She nodded, eyes closed as she leaned her head into his tender touch. "How did it go?"

"Okay," she mumbled. "She asked about the sessions with Dr. Williams."

He knew that it was likely, and smiled. Everything had changed since they had entered counselling together, though he knew that wounds were far from healed. Though he could listen to Jill's admissions over the miscarriage, he still found that he could not face his own emotions, let alone describe them.

"It's...It's nice sharing this with someone," she revealed, and he knew that she referred to therapy. "And I never did thank you for agreeing to it. I never thanked you for a lot of things..."

Thanks was never necessary. It amazed him sometimes how even the biggest chore seemed like nothing when it was done for her. She was worth it, worth everything. It seemed ironic that when this was something she really needed to know, he had ran out of words with which to tell her. Every day he felt the agonising toll that her burdens took on him, but the thought of leaving never once crossed his mind. He had tasted life without her, and he never wanted to go back there. In comparison, the current pain was but a pinprick.

"You don't need to thank me for anything," he told her, another quick kiss pressed to her nose.

"You would have made a great father," she hummed, suddenly distant.

It struck him like a blade in the gut, and he could almost feel his insides unravelling. Father.

'She would have been seventeen weeks now.'

How would their lives be different if they were still to be parents? Their friends would know now, would share in their joy. They would be painting the nursery, always ahead of the game. And what of Jill? Would she still be the heartbroken person he saw before him? Or would she remain in her joy, smiling through every day as though her past was insignificant?

"You are going to make a wonderful mother," he returned, pulling her into him perhaps so that she could not read his expression. Because one day, that was what she would be; a mother.

Her body was shaking against his, and he knew that though she did not cry she was still hurting inside. He knew that he needed to get through to her somehow, to make her see that every view she held about herself and about their future was a lie. She was an amazing woman with a hopeful future and it broke his heart that she could not see that.

The doorbell cut through his thoughts and he stepped back curiously.

"That will be Rebecca," Jill explained. "She wanted to meet up for a few hours."

He followed her through to the front door, smiling all the way. She had not spent much time with her friends since her return, and so it pleased him to see that she was making an effort.

Rebecca greeted her with an enthusiastic embrace, which Jill returned with an equal amount of heart.

"Chris," the newcomer acknowledged with a knowing smirk he would have attributed to his sister and not his friend.

"I don't suppose you want extra company?" he suggested innocently, partly teasing but also bored and desperate to find something to obscure the lingering symptoms of his hangover.

"Nuh-uh," Rebecca laughed as she waited for Jill to grab her coat. "It's just us girls today. But get your ass down to Barry's barbecue this month and spend a little time with the common people. Damn, this house is big."

Her sudden bubbly attitude surprised him but he did not complain.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," Jill told him, rising up onto the balls of her feet to claim his lips.

"I love you," he told her. He wanted to seize the opportunity while he could.

"I know," she smiled, with a glint in her eye that told him she spoke the truth. Maybe those moments last night were not a dream after all. "I love you, too."

Her eyes darted around the interior, and he noticed that the hands that gripped her jacket trembled without provocation. She may have been hiding it well, but he could see that she was a nervous wreck beneath it all.

"Take care of her," he urged Rebecca once Jill had begun her slow walk to the younger girl's car. Though he felt that she would misunderstand him, she seemed to sense the seriousness in his voice and nodded sombrely. Of all those Jill had told of her ordeal, Rebecca was the one person he completely trusted to look after her in the way she needed. The others tried, but most were too nervous to approach her, too scared of making things worse.

He watched from the window as they drove away, part of him wishing that he was joining them. He missed Rebecca too, and though neither he nor Jill were in any state to attend the Burtons' monthly barbecue in June, he now regretted the time lost. Every moment spent with friends was precious to him, as it was to them all. If there was anything Jill's death had taught them, it was how easy it would have been to make just that little bit more effort. If tragedy were to repeat itself, they wanted no regrets this time.

'There are always regrets,' he reminded himself sombrely.

It was strange how the thought of regret brought his attention back to a single drawer in the kitchen, and soon his body followed. What exactly had she been so desperate to hide from him?

'You're disgusting for even considering this.'

But was he? She had not requested that he stay away, had not explicitly told him that the drawer contained something private. He could be innocently tidying and stumble across them as he reached for a tea towel. Besides, anything she hid could be vital to her recovery. They had promised no secrets, yet here she apparently harboured one.

He slid the drawer open slowly, reaching in as soon as space would allow.

Pamphlets. She had been hiding pamphlets. He took the pile into his hand, counting four in total.

**'Relationship Counselling: Why It's The Right Step.'**

He recognised the first, had been given one by Jill herself. It was a 'gift' from Dr. Keller, should they need encouragement to attend the recommended sessions. He had required nothing more than the possibility that it would help.

Curiosity now powered him, and he switched pamphlets, moving on to number two.

**'Depression and You.'**

He did not know if it was his heart or his lungs that first gave out, a painful emptiness suddenly filling his chest cavity. Surely this was an oversight? She had been diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Depressive tendencies came with the disorder; for depression to be diagnosed as a separate illness, the issue would have to be prominent. Sure, she had cried, but he had never thought...

He changed pamphlets again.

**'Coping With a Major Depressive Episode.'**

**'Depression: The Facts.'**

Now, it was his hands that shook. The pamphlets fell from his hands and into the drawer. He could now feel his heart beating, but it was beating too fast.

Quickly, he ran upstairs to the medical cabinet in the ensuite bathroom, clumsily knocking bottles aside as he explored. He found what he was looking for in the depths of the cabinet, hidden where he would never have bothered to look had he simply been browsing. It was a little orange bottle, familiar to him in a manner that choked him unexpectedly. They were anti-depressants; he knew that without a sliver of doubt in his mind. They were antidepressants, and they were in Jill's name, quite recently dispensed.

There only ever seemed to be one problem after another, and his tolerance was wearing thin. In the simplest sense, it was unfair. Her rescue should have been the end of things, but nothing could be further from the truth. And every blow that struck was one that he could not help with. All he could do was support her, and hope that she did not crumble beneath the weight of her troubles. Yes, it was unfair, and she did not deserve any of it.

He would have done anything to see her smile, but every attempt to comfort her was met with stubbornness. She didn't have to do this alone, yet she seemed set on doing so.

His eyes fell again to the bottle in his hand, almost full to the brim.

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Go away, Claire."_

_"You think I can just leave now?"_

_"I don't care...do what the hell you want."_

_"This is getting old, Chris. You need to see someone. _Please_!"_

_"It wouldn't make any difference. She's not coming back."_

_"..."_

_"Exactly. Now get lost."_

_"I'm not going anywhere. I lost one of my best friends, Chris...I won't lose my brother."_

"Damn it, Jill," he sighed.

* * *

_**July 2, 2009. 3:00pm. Downtown Washington D.C.**_

Jill did not complain about the change of destination. In fact, she seemed to welcome it. Arlington was all they saw these days, and Rebecca had developed a love of D.C., so much so that she would often look for excuses to visit Leon. A completed project and cancelled meeting left her with an afternoon off and she could not pass up the opportunity to visit.

They found a small café hidden away from the hustle and bustle, quiet enough for conversation. She sensed that they had a lot coming; she had made it her personal goal to wrangle the truth about Jill's pregnancy from her. It did seem somewhat suspicious to her that she was not yet boasting physical signs of pregnancy, but she wore an empire-line top and so it was difficult to judge the shape of her abdomen.

"Thank you for inviting me out," Jill smiled when their drinks arrived. "I...don't get out of the house much these days. Never really have reason to."

Rebecca grimaced, remembering a conversation she once had with Chris. He had tried to occupy her on her return, hoping that it would help take her mind off all that troubled her. But the few outings they had went on had done nothing but drive home the fact that she had missed out on two and a half years of social evolution, and she had then displayed a preference for staying at home until she could catch up on all she had missed.

"It's good to see you again," she told her. "I'm sorry we don't get to meet up more often. Work, it's...crazy."

"The promotion, right?"

"Yeah," Rebecca laughed, glad that she remembered. "The board is taking their sweet time on this one. I think I've got it in the bag, though."

Jill smiled back at her as she too a long sip from her glass.

"They'd be crazy to choose anyone else," she complimented. "You're really going somewhere, huh?"

Darkness clouded her words as it always did these days, and suddenly Rebecca's smile required an almost exhausting amount of energy. It broke her heart to see her in such a state, the smile that had warmed them all several weeks ago now gone.

"What about you?" she asked, curious. "I'm sure the BSAA will have a promotion ready for when you go back."

Jill shrugged indifferently.

"I don't think I'm going back," she sighed. "When I...when I was at the base in Dakar, I found out that I'd been given a 'posthumous' medal of valour. I didn't feel anything. I didn't feel proud or touched...it meant nothing to me. There was none of the usual passion I felt with the job. All I could think of was how unfair it was. I went through two years of hell and I got a medal and a pat on the back and everything was supposed to be okay? I can't face going back into active duty. I would be looking over my shoulder at every step; I'd be a liability. Not to mention I'd never pass the psych."

Rebecca sensed a meaning that transcended words; she was scared, afraid of finding herself in the same position again. She could not blame her.

"Maybe...maybe the lack of pride had something to do with your reason for the award," she suggested. "You saved Chris's life. Compared to that, how could a medal possibly compare?"

Jill smiled wryly, knowing that there was truth in her words. In all that she had admitted since her return, she had not once claimed that she would take back that act if she could. Because in her eyes, no price was too high to pay for his safety. It was love like that which had kept them together despite the odds.

"What about Chris?" Rebecca asked. "Have you spoken to him about this?"

A simple shake of the head answered her question.

"We have a lot of leave left," Jill told her. "I don't know what he wants to do when it's over. On the one hand, he keeps telling me how happy he is that we're getting married and settling down, but on the other he really loves his job. I don't want to ask him to give that up, but the time apart would be too much and I'd worry every time he left that he wouldn't come back."

This time, Rebecca's smile was wide and genuine. If there was an in she was looking for, here it was. She knew that Chris would never leave Jill. What she had seen of him in the years without her left no denial that he would not willingly separate himself from her. That would be especially true now that she was carrying his child.

"Chris is all about family," she assured her. "He loves you, and he would drop everything for you...for _both_ of you."

Jill seemed confused when she raised her head to look her friend in the eyes. Had Rebecca not been one hundred percent certain that she knew the truth, she would have believed for a moment that she had got it all wrong.

"I know," she whispered when she was not offered a reply. "I'm good at my job; it didn't take much to find the HcG in your blood. I'm so happy for you, Jill. Nobody deserves this more than the two of you."

Though she reached for Jill's hand, she pulled it away before contact could be made. The happy smile she had expected was absent, an expression of anguished realisation taking its place.

"I'm not pregnant," Jill spoke softly.

"Come on," Rebecca laughed, reaching further over the table to squeeze her arm. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

A tear rolled down Jill's cheek and she quickly wiped it away, looking everywhere but into her friend's eyes.

"No," she lamented. "I _was_ pregnant, but...not anymore."

And Rebecca's heart sank through her stomach, her hand suddenly withdrawn. Somehow, she always managed to get ahead of herself, to overstep boundaries that she simply could not see. And once again, the mistake was on her.

"Oh God," she gasped. "Jill... I am so sorry!"

'You and your stupid mouth!'

"Don't be," Jill rushed. "Please, it's not your fault."

She could tell that she was just being polite, but calmed her apologies accordingly. Her contact with both Jill and Chris had been limited in the past few weeks; how could she possibly have picked up a change in attitude? But the girl before her now was not the ecstatic mother-to-be she had witnessed a month ago. She was not even the woman Chris had brought home from Africa...she was someone else, shrouded in darkness.

It was then that a horrifying thought crossed her mind. She had mentioned nothing of miscarriage, nothing of losing her child.

'Was it Wesker's baby?' she wondered. Had she looked at the dates and realised that they did not correlate? Knowing that he former captor had impregnated her...that was reason enough for her haunted expression.

"Did-" she began, afraid to speak the words. "Was-"

"Chris was the father," Jill finished for her, as easily as though she had read her mind. "Trust me, I...I wasn't sure when I first found out."

She saw Rebecca's expression darken and laughed humourlessly. There was a lot she had not discussed about her captivity, and though Chris knew every word, she had not been so forthcoming with the others.

"Wesker never..." she continued. "Not that I can remember at least. But I was paranoid. I mean...once, he...he almost..."

Rebecca raised a hand to her lips, and though she assured her that Jill did not have to say a word, she could see that she wanted to. Something told her that she had never spoken of this before.

"I tried to escape a few times," she explained. "Once, I got as far as the villages. I was weak; exhausted, dehydrated and I was beginning to suffer withdrawal from the P30. I found some soldiers at the barricades, thought they would help me. So they took me inside, brought me some water and let me rest while they called for help. It turned out that one of the soldiers was in league with Wesker. He killed the others when he arrived...and he was angry; I'd never seen him so mad. He said that previous methods to beg obedience had obviously failed, so I left him with no choice. There was nothing in his eyes, no emotion at all. He seemed furious and disgusted that I had pushed him so far. He wasn't doing it for self-satisfaction or pleasure...it was just torture to him. I guess that was the moment I realised there was nothing _human_ left in him."

Rebecca tried to hide her tremors, wondered even if Jill would notice them. She had heard about the first BSAA mission, of what Nicholai had tried to do. It amazed her that Jill had seemed so nonchalant in the aftermath, knowing that she carried with her the unease of what had almost happened. To a woman, there was no action more threatening; even the strongest individual was shaken, no matter how well they managed to hide it.

"Thankfully, he brought Excella with him. When she heard the screams, she came running and she made him stop. She told him that they couldn't risk the damage it would do, both to my body and my mind, but I saw the truth in her eyes...I never would have thought she had a conscience. After that, she made him hand over my reins to her, and assigned me as Irving's bodyguard, far away from him. I don't know if she was truly worried, or if she just didn't want to think of her precious Albert with me. Either way, I was glad. But that was the last time I fought. I'd made it so far, but it was just…too much. I knew that nobody was coming for me, and…I was _terrified_. There's...there's a lot I don't remember. I know it's unrealistic, but...it scares me."

There was nothing Rebecca could do but sit back and allow her admission to sink in. What _could_ she say?

"That's all over now," she tried. "You don't need to be afraid of anything anymore."

"That doesn't mean I'm not," Jill sighed. "I'm still waiting to feel free. Losing our child...maybe that was a blow too many."

As sympathy for her friend grew, guilt descended. How could she even think about having a child now? She could tell simply from Jill's expression that she desperately wanted a family with Chris, that for the few short weeks it was promised she had been happier than she had been in years.

However broody she may have felt, her consideration for Jill far surpassed any ache in her womb. Kathy was right; she had many years to have children. She would not be the one to pour salt in already aggravated wounds.

"Thank you for listening," Jill breathed with a smile. "But...we're here for fun. Let's talk about something else."

Of course. In the darkness of reminiscence, she had forgotten just why they were here. Nobody said that recovery would be easy, and patience was all anyone could give her right now.

Rebecca felt awfully alone these days, so isolated despite the wealth of friendship that surrounded her. She was no longer a young adult fighting Umbrella at her friends' side. She was a woman who had followed her dreams and walked down a path that unfortunately led far away from them. They had all chosen their own destinies, yet somehow she was the only one who remained alone. Barry had his family, Chris and Jill had each other, as did Leon and Claire. Carlos...well, who knew where he was now?

She felt complacency with Jill, but something was still missing, she could_ feel_ it. And somehow, she could not help but think that there was someone she was forgetting.

* * *

_**July 2, 2009. 9:00pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA.**_

Jill rarely found herself cooking so late at night, but craving had struck her and the leftover vegetables from dinner had called. She was alone despite Chris's presence in the house. He was not as young as he evidently thought he was, and though he assumed that a hangover would be as easy to ignore as it had been in his early twenties, a trip to the gym with his friends had proven too much and he had spent much of the evening laying in darkness.

She wondered if he had retired for the night, unsure of which way her hope should sway. Although she held no sympathy for him over self-inflicted discomfort, she worried. Sometimes she thought she held more consideration for him than she did for herself. But he was everything to her, and she would do anything for him.

"Yet you still come up short."

The knife slipped in her hand, tearing the skin of her thumb.

"Shit!" she swore, holding the injured digit immediately to her lips. But the spill was too much and blood trickled over her lips, the taste more bitter than expected.

"Leave me alone," she begged. It was useless; he had a mind of his own and her worst interests at heart. Had she the nerve to face him, she was sure that he would be smiling.

She grabbed a clean tea towel from the drawer in the hopes of stemming the flow of blood, more annoyed that her snack had been ruined.

"You can't be trusted to do anything," Wesker sighed as he stepped forward, reaching around her shoulder for something out of sight. In an instant she stood by the fridge, several feet from the carrot she had been carefully slicing just moments earlier.

"You seem nervous," he laughed, smirking the way he always did when he spoke to her; a smirk that showed he knew he was in control...and enjoyed every second of it.

She did not know why she froze, injured hand clasped to her chest. Conditioning had taught her not to scream, that nobody would come if she did. Would Chris even hear her? And what if he did? He wouldn't understand...he would think the worst.

"Just...leave me alone," she repeated. The air was always colder when he was around; a stark contrast to the warmth she felt with Chris. Everything about Wesker was cold, even the golden hue of his irises. She had wondered on many occasions if he wore gloves because the skin beneath his clothing was as cold as the rest of him. The virus had changed so much of his physiology that she would not be surprised if this was the case.

"Now, now, Jill," he frowned, feigning offence. "If you don't start being a little more polite, I will leave. And what happens when the others do too? Then you'll have nobody."

'He's lying,' she told herself. Something swelled in her chest, determination and realisation colliding. Chris loved her, she knew that, and somehow it had become obvious in the short space of a single day that he was not going anywhere. Wesker may have been strong, but Chris was stronger where it counted.

"They're not going to leave," she told him, reciting her thoughts. "You couldn't understand. You've never had a single friend in your life. Even Birkin used you. You have no idea what it feels like to love and to be loved."

He stared her down, posture straight and authoritative. One look was all it took to twist her stomach into knots.

"You can't even keep a baby," he pointed out.

His words dissolved the defence she had thrown up and she was left unguarded, wounded and frightened. And she ran, not stopping until the sofa provided a comfortable fall. He did not follow, but the damage had been done.

Dr. Keller had attempted to teach her to come to terms with her demons, but the miscarriage was something she could not justify. She could find no reason in the loss, no sense in a life claimed. She knew that she would mourn the child into the foreseeable future.

'You're not the only one suffering because of these blows,' she reminded herself.

And then, she felt a hand on the back of the sofa, and jumped, placated only by the figure that bore no resemblance to Wesker's lean physique. It was obvious from the air between them that he had seen her tears, so heartfelt and mournful. Perhaps this was what had brought him to her?

"Are you okay?" he asked. She could tell simply from the tone of his voice that he knew she was not.

"I'm fine," she insisted despite the obvious. Chris sighed before moving, though not to join her.

"If you weren't so stubborn and just talked about things, maybe you would be," he told her. "I know what you are going through...more than you know."

He placed a translucent orange cylinder onto the coffee table in front of her and left without a sound. The living room was dark this time of night, the light overhead unlit, yellow glow cast only from the dining room. She would not have recognised the tube at first glance, but when she held it in her hands she knew.

It was the medication Dr. Keller had prescribed her, claiming that what she felt could no longer be classed as simple bereavement; she was depressed, and medication would help soften the symptoms whilst therapy worked at tackling the underlying problem. She did not like the idea of her mind being sedated, but had been told that it would help...she was willing to do anything to ease the pain, if only temporarily.

'He knows.'

The realisation hit her like an anvil to the cranium and her grip on the tea towel faltered as she shook the bottle, only to find that it was empty.

'He found my medication and he _emptied_ it?' But he wouldn't...he would _never_.

Before she allowed hurt to take hold, she turned the bottle over in her hand, checking to see that it was indeed the medication she believed it to be. And it was. But the name on the label was not hers.

_**Mr. C. Redfield.**_

She read the name four times, just to be sure. It was not doctored, that she could be sure of.

'But he never...'

She turned her attention to the date of prescription.

_**11/29/2006**_

November 2006. Three months after her fall. There was no need to question what had led to the prescription.

She raised a trembling hand to her lips, turning at once to glance at the staircase. The bottle fell to the floor as she rose to her feet, running upstairs with worried haste. But frantic footsteps ceased as she approached their bedroom. The light of a bedside lamp illuminated the confines of the master bedroom, but little else. He was preparing to crawl into bed, perhaps already had and was waiting for her.

But he remained awake when she entered, open as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. He was tentative in returning her embrace, but gentle when it came down to the details. He seemed surprised at her actions but she did not let this sway her.

She had suffered for so long in silence, every artery clogged by heavy emotion. She would not wish her pain upon her worst enemy, but in the end it was her greatest ally who had felt the impact as she did. All she wanted to do was to hold him, to kiss him lightly upon the cheek and tell him that she loved him and that she cared.

"Chris, I'm so sorry," she whispered through tears she had not felt arrive. "I didn't know..."

"It's not about knowing," he told her. "I didn't let anyone in; please don't make the same mistake."

But she could not see her own mistake, only flashes of hypothesised scenarios; of Chris, stubbornly alone in darkness.

"Are you okay?" she needed to know. And that was when he pulled back, confusion evident in his expression now.

"I am now," he told her. "Don't worry about me."

She moved her right hand to his jaw, frowning as she cupped his cheek. A fresh wave of anger swelled within; it was enough that Wesker had affected her so adversely, but for his actions to touch Chris a million miles away... She had never wanted him to feel the way she did. He may not want her to worry about him, but as long as he remained unhappy she would.

He reached suddenly for her left hand, a trail of blood she had failed to notice smudged against his neck.

"What happened?" he asked when he saw the cause of the flow.

"I got clumsy," she laughed and tried to pull her hand away. But his grip on her wrist was too strong. He let go only to retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom cabinet and sit her down on the bed, working at cleaning and bandaging the wound.

"I could have got that myself," she told him as he secured the dressing in place, a Band-Aid proving inadequate. "But I guess you did promise to take care of me."

He laughed in return and pressed a kiss to her bandaged thumb.

"But it's mutual," she added. "You can't expect me not to want the best for you too."

She did not think she had ever seen him smile as widely as he did in response to this, and he pulled her into him with one arm.

"I'm fine," he assured her, sensing that she still worried about his previous condition.

As her head fell against his chest, she sighed, struggling against exhaustion.

"It seems that every conversation we have ends in each other arms," she thought aloud.

"There are worse places we could be," he chuckled.

And when their eyes met, something passed between them. Understanding. Mutual love. Whatever it was, it felt as natural as the heat of the sun against her skin. She brought her lips to his as though by instinct, bandaged hand flat against his chest. She could feel his heart beating against her palm and the warmth of the skin that separated the two. The kiss was gentle and soft, but she felt it warm every corner of her body. She was floating through carefree thoughts, the darkness of the bedroom dissolving around her. It had been so long since he had kissed her like this and her body had fallen out of sync with the emotion. His hand barely touched upon her hip, but she felt its warmth through her shorts, pressed herself closer into his body...

"What are you doing?" Wesker sighed.

She faltered a little and Chris made to pull away but she pushed, catching him. Irritation festered beneath her skin, but she was determined not to let him ruin a good moment. Love was one thing he could never take away from her, no matter how hard he tried.

"You don't deserve to feel this good."

This time, she broke away.

"What's wrong?" Chris asked, leaning in but holding back. His eyes were trained on her lips, eyes glazed and half-lidded, drunk once again.

"You did it again."

"Shut up!" she screamed, turning towards the unwelcome visitor. She did not care about his rage; her own was potent in that moment. "You can't do this!"

Chris jumped at the sound of her voice, all contact between them severed. It wasn't until she realised he withheld breath that reality set in. With a satisfied smirk, Wesker was gone and she was left only with the consequences of her words.

"Jill..." Chris breathed. In the thirteen years she had known him, she had never heard him speak with such fearful apprehension. "What the hell was that?"

Words eluded her. Every inch of her quaked, eyes darting everywhere but the space he occupied. A dark cloud settled above her thoughts, clogging her mind until she could find no reason; for Wesker's existence, for why she could not tell Chris the truth. There was no sense at all.

"I...I..." she stuttered. But there was nothing she could think of to say to him. In the end, she rose to her feet and walked away as fast as her legs would carry her.

"Jill, wait!" Chris called after her, hot on her heels. He reached for her arm as she ran, fingers closing around her wrist. But she did not stop, and jerked against his hold, almost falling to the ground in surprise.

He wouldn't understand, and she wouldn't know where to begin to explain. She pulled at his fingers, desperate to get away but he was just too strong and just that stubborn.

"Let me go!" she begged. Humiliation had already sunken in. She couldn't face him now, she needed time; time to work on an explanation, time for him to forget what had happened.

"I won't," he refused. "Please, stay; talk about this!"

She protested further, her fingernails digging into his skin. He winced in pain but remained steadfast, reaching for her with a second hand. She stood no chance against another hold, and she knew that her resolve would falter the instant he pulled her into him, holding her with more love than she felt she deserved.

"Please!" she cried, unwelcome, harrowing images now flashing through her mind. "Please, Wesker, stop!"

And his fingers slipped from her skin, sending her stumbling out into the hallway. To say that she regretted her words barely touched upon what she felt. She had not been thinking, the words slipping through the veil of fog and off the tip of her tongue.

She could have punched him, for all the damage her slip of the tongue had dealt. But no physical blow could deliver the same meaning. Wesker embodied evil in Chris's eyes; a dwelling place for all he strove not to be. To hear that insult from his lover's lips...

There was hurt in every word he did not speak, his eyes troubled, expression anguished. What could she say now to make things right? She could not take back her words, however false they may have been.

Chris raised a hand to his neck, turned his head as fingers dug into skin.

"Damn it, Jill," he spoke softly, and his words were heavy with all that was visually evident. "There's a _line_."

Without another thought on the matter, she took off across the landing, heading straight for the first guest bedroom - the bedroom that should have been a nursery. It was a cowardly act but in the grand scheme of things she knew that it would not change much. She expected him to follow as he always did. That she did not want him to mattered not one bit; he _always_ followed. But as she fell onto the unfamiliar mattress, she heard the distant slam of a bedroom door echoing through the first floor of their home.

He was not coming.

She waited for the tears to fall, but they did not. She waited for Wesker to show himself, but she remained alone. The only flagellation came from her own heart, and she was not even afforded the comfort of crying. Previously, she had underestimated their relationship and now that she could see the truth, she shattered it into a thousand pieces. She failed to see how this was fair or even justified.

'Wesker was right,' she told herself. 'You destroy everything you touch.'

It was obvious before her head hit the uncomfortably plump pillow that she would not sleep that night. Because love always had been that elusive concept, the one Wesker could never touch. But he had touched, and it appeared that he had stolen.

And she did not know what he had left her with.

**AN - Please review :)**


	5. Devil

**AN - **Another long chapter here, but they should be a little shorter after this. This chapter was pretty much an idea I had that sounded good in theory, but I'm not sure how well it translated, so I'd really appreciate your thoughts ^_^.

Huge thanks again to everyone who reviewed - _Kenshin13, Ceylon, tek, Supermodel Sandwich, Ultimolu, Ninja-Gnome, xSummonerYunax, blah, C. Redfield _and _Black Metalmark_. I'd also like to extend extra thanks to _Ultimolu_, whose review helped me resolve the annoying issue of the name of this chapter, and to _xSummonerYunax_ who helped me out when I got a little frustrated ^_^.

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Four_**_ - Devil_

_'The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary;  
men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.'  
~Joseph Conrad~_

**_July 9, 2009. 2:11pm._**

Her body ached when she woke, every nerve screaming for release. Cold tiles pressed to her arms, imprinting their pattern onto her skin. There was nothing between her body and the metal; not carpet, not even clothes.

Groggy, Jill contemplated the dull metal tiles, too weak to push against them. Where was she? More importantly, how did she get here? She must have stumbled from somewhere, perhaps mid-flight, running from someone. Try as she might, she could not reconstruct a journey.

'Am I dreaming?' she wondered. And then she moved, stretching to grip the wall for support. Her fingers had barely touched the grimy surface when she gasped, jumping back at the unfamiliar sensation.

A strange bio-organic mass clung to the walls, stretched across the surface as though it had been pulled taught by inhuman hands. It was soft to the touch, the colour of tar-filled lungs, bearing the smell of necrotic tissue with the consistency of ground flesh. There were large holes in the substance, through which she could see laboratory equipment, obscured by yellowing glass.

She crawled to a nearby doorway, hauling herself to her feet using the frame for support. Wherever she was, it was evident that it had been deserted for quite some time. But still, she found a series of lab coats hanging near the door and limped towards them, rifling through until she found a size small enough to fit her frame. As she secured the large translucent buttons a stale scent of mothballs and mildew invaded her senses, but she decided that it would have to do.

Her fingers brushed against the skin of her bosom as she reached the topmost button and she registered something unusual. The skin was soft and smooth, unblemished despite its previous toil. Even as she caught sight of her reflection in the surface of a nearby cabinet, she noticed that her hair was a dark shade of brown, a light tan to her skin tone beneath dirt smudged on her cheek.

"This...this isn't right," she whispered. Even as she considered these details, they became less and less absurd, until she could not remember what had seemed so strange in the first place.

She rubbed at the dirt as she explored the small room, instinct telling her to search for a weapon. Pens, paper, computer discs; nothing that would be of use.

Unarmed, naked and weak, she felt like an open target.

_There was pain in her arms when her eyes opened, and she knew that she had recently fallen. She was cold, wet, confused. Memories flashed; Chris, Wesker, water, pain. She could remember tubes, though she did not know of their meaning._

_"She will be weak for a while," explained an unfamiliar voice, although she knew that it was not directed towards her. "She hasn't moved in quite some time; help her up."_

_Material brushed against her arms, and she vaguely recognised the white fabric of a lab coat as hands pulled her carefully to her feet. Her legs buckled beneath her, no strength in the muscle to hold her upright. The man who had so graciously helped her to her feet gripped her tighter as she stumbled and wrapped the lab coat around her shoulders. Her surroundings pulsed in and out of view as her sight adjusted to new light, but she assumed that the object she was helped into was a wheelchair, though only wished that it possessed a high back; her neck was still weak and she was having difficulty holding it up. In many ways, she felt as though she was crawling from her mother's womb, newly born into a world she did not understand with a body that was almost useless._

_"Take her through," the voice ordered, feminine and highly accented. "And be careful!"_

_Sight returned as she was wheeled down a dark corridor, able to move but not to an extent that mattered._

_'Jill Valentine,' she remembered. 'That's your name. Born December 29th 1974. Your mom is Mary, your father is Richard. Mom died, dad was arrested. You're a...a soldier? Yes, that's right. You're a soldier and...you're in love.'_

_Flashes again; Chris firing his weapon, hauled to his feet._

_'You fell out of that window,' she realised. 'Chris...is he alive? Is he okay?'_

_The questions were familiar to her, as though she had asked them previously, though she could not recall the precise moment or to whom she had directed these questions._

_"D-" she spluttered in an attempt to speak. But her vocal chords failed her, evidently as strong as strawberry lace._

_She was wheeled slowly into a large room, a hospital gown that looked to be approximately her size laid out on an awaiting bed. It greatly resembled a hospital room, though with a significant lack of forced cheer._

_As she was helped up onto the bed she felt relief through every limb as they hit the mattress. She had never felt so exhausted in her life, so numb and helpless._

_More images flashed before her eyes; the interior of a hospital, restraints against her wrists._

_She did not know if her assistant meant for her to change into the gown, but she lay on top of it, the lab coat providing all the cover she needed in such an exhausted state. They were evidently doctors; they would allow her to rest first._

_The woman stepped into the room as the man left, and familiarity struck her._

_"Juh-" she tried, stumbling at the first syllable. "Gionne?"_

_She was trembling now, freezing in her suddenly inadequate covering. Excella Gionne was a member of the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium. A woman she had seen but not dealt with personally. In fact, she had been assigned to the African division of Tricell - a company she possessed a blood tie to - not long ago. Her presence could mean only one thing; the BSAA had found her._

_Though she wanted to believe this, something told her it was not right, screamed at her to use what little energy she had to run._

_"Ch-Chris," begged the important question. "He- Is he-? Where-?"_

_"Unfortunately, he's fine," Excella sighed. A gentle push on her shoulder rolled Jill onto her back, long fingers appearing above her jugular._

_Unfortunately?_

_And suddenly they were not alone. She could not tilt her head to see their new companion, but Excella greeted him with a warm smile. It was a sharp contrast to the general indifference that she had shown her patient._

_"Pulse is strong, vitals are good," she informed them. "Her complexion is to be expected after so long in stasis, and the pigmentation abnormality of the cranial follicles appears to be purely aesthetic; no lasting consequences. She will need to rest for a while before the trial can begin, and possibly build up lost muscle."_

_Stasis? She barely understood the word._

_"That was to be expected," noted the second voice, cold yet somehow amused. "Have a cell made up. As comfortable as she needs for fast recovery, no more."_

_He stepped into view as Excella moved away, fingers reaching for a lock of hair that rested on Jill's cheek._

_'Albert Wesker.' With his name came memories, realisations, and she flinched, moving away from his cold touch. It was not fear that crept upon her, but disgust. He had no right to touch her._

_"Well, it looks like her memory is returning," he acknowledged. "Make no mistake, Jill; I am helping you only so far as my need for you requires. If I had my way, you would be dead by now. But fate has dealt you a fortunate hand."_

_She was confused, but soaked in his words, irritation welling beneath her skin. It appeared that he still loved the sound of his own voice. She hated that man, and every word that he spoke only served to reinforce that fact. Whatever he had done, whatever he hoped to do, he would not get away with it, not so long as she had but a single breath left in her lungs._

_"Although, fortune is relative," he chuckled. "Let's see how you fare. If luck serves, you might keep that pretty face."_

"This place..." she realised. A sickening sense of de ja vu struck her and the very walls seemed to bend around her.

She knew that she could not truly be within the walls of the African facility; it had been destroyed! She was there when the order was passed, when the BSAA decided that it was too much of a risk to leave intact. Or had it truly been destroyed? Had it all been some elaborate ploy?

Because here she was.

* * *

**_July 9, 2009. 2:20pm. 108 Oakville Apartments. Alexandria, VA._**

There was something not quite right about Chris today, his sister realised as he dropped onto her sofa. She wondered if calling him had been such a good idea, but told herself not to worry. She missed him, and any excuse to see him was good enough.

It struck her as odd that Leon was not the first man she would call when she needed company. She did not even know where she stood with him anymore. She had called, she had chased, but things between them had been strained. How could they ever be the same? She was in a loveless relationship, choking on emotion that only she felt.

"What do you want?" Chris asked gruffly. A little offended, she chose to remain silent.

"I just wanted to talk," she answered as she moved to sit beside him. A distinctive alcoholic scent greeted her, and suddenly that elusive detail made sense.

She did not admonish him, though she knew that she should have. Although he had always been partial to a beer or two, he rarely allowed it to become a problem. There had to be a reason he had turned to alcohol so early in the day, and she knew that reason would be the same as always; a girl.

"You wanted advice, right?" he surmised. "Why else would you have called?"

Though she wanted to assure him that he was wrong, to defend herself, she could not deny that he was right. She would have called him for any reason, but today he happened to be right.

"You're my big brother," she laughed softly. "I'm supposed to turn to you. I just want to talk."

He drank from the glass of water she had given him and shrugged indifferently.

"If it's about Leon, you're asking the wrong person," he told her with a bitter edge to his voice. "I haven't spoken to my fiancée in a week, so I kind of suck at the whole relationship thing."

Claire placed a hand sympathetically on his shoulder. It was no surprise that he and Jill had been going through a rough patch, but they had all elected to mind their own business. Since Jill's return, everything had been on her terms and they all knew that this was how it should be for now. After all, it was no holiday she had come home from. Interference on their behalf could only make things worse.

Whatever it was that they were facing, she knew that they would pull through. They had to. The world just would not make sense if they were not together.

"What is it?" he asked, slurring his words.

"It's nothing, really," she sighed. Surely she should not be talking to him in such a state?

"Damn it, Claire," he swore. "I took a cab all the way from Arlington. You better give me something."

She was not used to him being so harsh with her. Sure, there had been sibling rivalry and teasing, but it had always come with a smile. She had not seen him so down since...

'Since Jill "died",' she realised.

"It's Leon," she told him against her better judgement. "I guess I just...need a guy's opinion."

Chris raised an eyebrow, and she knew that he recognised where the conversation was heading. She never wanted his opinion as a boyfriend; it was always as a man partial to female company.

"What do you mean?" he asked. And he leaned back into the sofa cushions, devoting what limited attention was at his disposal to their conversation.

"Well..." she began, wondering where to start. "I guess...Was it easy to tell Jill that you loved her the first time?"

Fortunately, he appeared to be intoxicated enough to not look further into her question. She concluded that it would also be easier to get a truthful answer in his current state.

"It depends what you mean by 'easy'," he sighed. "The words were never the problem."

She understood his meaning; Umbrella had complicated a lot of things. Even the aftermath of their actions had tainted the lives of those involved in the fight. Had circumstances been better, she would have opened up to Leon years ago, and maybe they would be happier now.

'Ada would still be an issue,' she sighed inwardly. Perhaps she would have been more of an issue than she currently was? But there would always be others, regardless of Ada's power over him. He was an attractive man and other women recognised this.

Then why was it always Ada? Why was she always the threat in her mind?

"But don't measure your own relationship by our standards," Chris pointed out. "We define 'fucked up'."

Claire frowned again, wishing that there were some way she could ease his pessimism. But then came the issue of 'minding her own business'.

"We've been dating roughly seven months," she explained. "Seven months and we still haven't slept together."

He laughed at this, disbelieving until he recognised the seriousness of her expression.

"You're serious?"

"Try not to sound so surprised," she told him, slightly offended. She knew what he used to be like, and was a little affronted by the stealthy suggestion that it ran in the family. "I don't want to rush things."

"I didn't want to rush things with Jill," he laughed. "But we made love five years _before_ we got together!"

She was surprised to hear this, though only in the traditional sense. She had known that he was never able to keep his dick in his pants when he was younger, but had never expected Jill to be one of his many conquests. However, she knew that she should not look into it too much. He had been hopelessly in love with Jill and conversations with the girl in question had brought to her attention the fact that his feelings had never been unreciprocated.

And she found herself questioning her choice of words. While Chris had spoken of making love to Jill in an instant where love likely played no vocal part, she had described the act as a separate entity. Words held a lot of meaning, especially those to which attention was not paid. Was this truly how she saw her relationship with Leon?

'I love him,' she told herself. 'Why can't I equate the two?'

"So what's the problem?" Chris's voice pulled her from her reverie and she grimaced, realising now that this was a conversation she truly did not wish to get into with her him.

"He doesn't love me," she told him. The words fell from her tongue despite inner protest. They were painful to hear, but she knew that they were true. It was an issue she wanted to deal with but just didn't know how. While part of her believed it was enough that she loved him and did not want to let him go, another knew that it was not fair that she should settle for so little from the man who had stolen her heart.

"I don't know what to do," she admitted with tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. "I love him, and I want this to work, but...how can I if the emotions are all one-sided? I don't know if he's just leading me on or..."

She sighed as she considered the possibility that she hoped was true. While she was willing to give Leon the benefit of the doubt, it was difficult. It was unfair to judge him on past attachments, but it was something that she just could not help.

"Or if he does love me and he is just too scared to admit it," she finished. "He thinks I'm insecure, and maybe I am. But...this hurts. I just need to know that he cares."

"He said that you're insecure?" Chris asked, anger evident in his words.

"Chris, don't take it that way," she begged. He had an irritating habit of making her problems his own, and she needed him as an advisor now, not a third party. "I need your advice - I don't know what to do."

"Break it off," he told her, as forcefully as though it were a command. "You shouldn't let anyone talk to you like that."

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. It was not about what Leon said or how he spoke to her; it was about what he felt!

"You can't let him mess you around like this!" Chris protested when he drew meaning from her expression. Aggression came to him easily enough without the influence of alcohol, and she knew instantly that she should have phrased her words better...or at least approached him when he was not so riled up.

"What if it was Jill?" she asked, turning the scenario onto him. "What if she called you on your weaknesses? Would you walk away?"

His eyes snapped to hers and he pushed himself to his feet, exhaling sharply.

"Don't bring her into this!" he shouted, and she knew that she had hit a nerve, had touched upon the subject of his anxiety. He felt the same way she did, and yet could not see her problem from her perspective. It was perfectly fine to tell someone to cut loose, but when those feelings were your own it was not so simple.

"You wouldn't, would you?" she pressed. "Because you love her. Whatever insult-"

"Don't push that, Claire," he growled. His anger seemed to peak, and suddenly she was afraid. She did not recognise this man as her brother, did not feel anymore that she could push yet remain safe.

She suddenly wished that she had probed more into his problems, selfish that she had troubled him with her own. Whatever troubles he and Jill were having, the others had evidently underestimated. He had sworn to remain intact for her sake, yet 'intact' was not the word she would have used to describe him. Drunk and angry, she regretted adding to that fury.

She was almost relieved when they both heard the scratch of a key in the lock. She never sensed that trouble could follow, that her words could lead to action she regretted.

It all happened in an instant; Leon had barely stepped through the door. But Chris was close enough and, despite his size, fast enough. Leon stumbled back into the wall from the force of the blow, Chris's fist slamming so hard against his jaw that for a moment Claire feared that it may have broken. She screamed, but neither man registered her cry and she charged forward, vaulting over the arm of the sofa to place herself between them, pushing Chris backwards with her palms flat against his chest.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she screeched. Chris eyed Leon on the floor, slouched against the wall as he held his jaw, wincing in pain. Claire knew that he was processing shock, otherwise he would have been on his feet, throwing punches of his own. In a struggle with an enemy his actions were almost textbook, but nobody ever expected to be attacked by a friend.

Before he could reply, she dropped to Leon's side and reached for his jaw, noting that the skin had already begun to discolour. He blinked up at her, surprise caught in his eyes.

"Get out of here," she spat over her shoulder.

Chris moved for the front door, not protesting the eviction.

"Stop stirring shit, Claire," he warned her.

And then he was gone. No word of apology, no remorse.

* * *

**_July 9, 2009. 2:24pm._**

There were sounds, following her. Breath upon her neck, voices in the darkness. Paranoia crept upon her back and she glanced over her shoulder, hugging the borrowed lab coat closer to her frame. It was humid in the hallways, stuffy to the point where it became uncomfortable to draw breath, but she still felt chills creeping through her skin.

Cautiously, she approached another junction and peered round both corners and up ahead. Footsteps echoed in the distance, but she could not make out which direction they originated from.

She trembled against the humidity, the steel tiles cold against the soles of her feet.

Footsteps.

She spun, preparing to flee at any instance. The hallway ahead was clear, the one to her right empty, and the one to her left...

She recognised the blonde hair first, illuminated by the dim, flickering lights. Surprisingly, she did not freeze. She ran, as fast as her legs would carry her, down the hallway perpendicular to the one he occupied.

_Lights out at ten; it was always the same. Her cell was plunged into darkness, the light of the hallway blocked by the impenetrable door. Her muscles had all but seized after a day-long forced work-out but she mustered enough strength to roll over on the bed, cuffs jangling audibly against the metal frame._

_How many nights had she spent in darkness? She had tried to count at first, but there truly was no point. For all she knew, she could have been here years. As time passed, she had begun to realise that Wesker had been speaking the truth: nobody was coming to save her._

_'Why won't he just kill me?' she wondered. 'Isn't this what he wanted? Isn't that what all this is about; revenge?'_

_Instead, she had proven to be his scapegoat, his punching bag when leather would not do. She would be forced to train, to condition her body to a level even the BSAA did not require. If she refused...well, it depended on his mood. If she was lucky, bruising and contusions would be all she was dealt. She had learned just to obey, spurred on by an uncomfortable period of time spent chained naked in what she could only assume was a large industrial freezer. A dose of hypothermia cured by a day in the stasis tube had taught her that it was just not worth it to remain stubborn._

_Besides, if she built up muscle and strength then she would be strong enough to escape when the opportunity arose._

_'You're still submitting,' she reminded herself. Submission was something she swore that she would never do. But Wesker was...persuasive. His stasis technology could cure virtually any ailment or injury and so he became increasingly less concerned about her wellbeing. He would pull her from the floor by her hair, throw her carelessly against the wall when she was in his way. She missed friendly company, missed concern that she had always taken for granted._

_More than anything, she missed Chris._

_Tears came to her eyes as her thoughts drifted to him. Where was he? How was he? Was he happy? Was he safe? She missed him most at night, missed the way he used to hold her as she slept. She missed waking up when the first thing would see was his eyes, and the smile shining down at her. She could not help but think that his love and constant care were also things that she had taken for granted. Her love for him had not faded, and she wondered if she had told him enough, if he truly knew that he was everything to her._

_'He's alive,' she told herself. 'And that is all that matters.'_

_She heard the last of the employees filter out of the hallway and propped herself up on her elbows, waiting for the footsteps to disappear. As soon as silence descended, she slid off the bed, reaching for the pants of her repaired BSAA uniform. From out of the pockets she pulled a single paperclip, relieved to find that it was still there. In a matter of seconds, the cuffs sprang open and she was pulling the uniform over her underwear._

_The lock on the door was easy to pick, and she stumbled out into the hallway, scanning her surroundings. The escape plan was not one she had been given much chance to consider; a chance happening upon a paperclip and the ability to stealthily sneak it into her pocket had led to a plan she did not want to delay. She could not take another day in this place; she needed to get out before her will shattered completely._

_There was a guard at the end of the hall but he was unconscious before he registered her presence. Her newfound strength was proving more useful than she anticipated._

_Empty labs passed her by as she sprinted, several security majini taken down carefully and quietly. She found that it was so much easier to sneak about when she did not have to worry about a partner's actions. But still, she continuously glanced over her shoulder for the sole purpose of checking that he was okay._

_'You're alone. It's up to you now.'_

_It was not long before she chanced upon an elevator of sorts that she could vaguely recall travelling on. It was a moving platform, circular with a console in the centre. She knew that she did not need to take it to another level, that the exit was a straight dash through several more labs. But something stopped her in her tracks, drew her attention to the many lights that lined the walls. There were shadows against the bulbs, indiscernible from her current position. And so she jogged closer, heart pounding in her ears. Common sense screamed at her, told her to run before someone realised that she was not in her cell._

_But she could not. Because the shadows were people, bound in the tubes in a way she had assumed herself to have once been. She had always been sedated in the labs, and too delirious to recall her surroundings as she stepped out of the tube._

_She had always thought that she was the only one..._

_Ignoring the screamed protests of her frightened inner self, she ran towards the console, flicking switches and bashing buttons. Names flashed upon the screen, unfamiliar but no less important. It did not matter how terrified she was, how close to freedom; she could not leave these people to their inevitable fate._

_A single tube detached from the wall and she rushed towards it. A man several years her junior fell with liquid, crumpled unmoving against the floor. She dropped to her knees, checking his pulse and pushing long hair from his eyes._

_"W- W-" he spluttered, but she shushed him urgently, turning his head so that he could look into her eyes._

_"I'm here to help you," she whispered. "But you have to keep quiet. Are you okay?"_

_He nodded uneasily, confusion overwhelming him as he took in his surroundings. Though it was not easy, she helped him to his feet and brought him over to the console so that he could support his own weight. A quick rifle in the drawers beneath the monitor turned up several sets of medical scrubs and she handed a pair to the man, urging him to quickly clothe himself._

_"Wh- What... Where-?"_

_"You're in West-Africa," she explained as she brought up another random name on the screen, wishing that there were a way she could free everyone at once._

_"W-West Africa?" he stuttered in disbelief. "But I...I live in Johannesburg. I was...I don't remember..."_

_"Can you help her?" she asked, pointing to another tube that extended from the outside wall. The woman that fell from its confines was fully-clothed but he ran to her anyway, legs shaking every step of the way._

_"Apua!" the woman cried, voice thankfully fractured. The man shushed her but she was a bundle of nerves and would not accept offered comfort._

_"I don't know what language that is," the South-African man told Jill. But she was not paying attention, too focused on releasing the next capsule._

_"Jätä minut rauhaan!" the woman begged. She was frantic, and Jill feared that she may give away their position. But she did not care for comforting her; it could cost them precious seconds, and perhaps another captive who could be rescued._

_"I'm not going to hurt you," the man assured her. He then pointed at his chest, then at Jill. "We help. Be quiet!" He pressed a finger to her lips and she seemed to get the message._

_"What is going on?" she asked, her English almost perfect, if not weighed down by a heavy accent. "Where am I?"_

_"West Africa, apparently," the man answered. "My name is Dominick, what is yours?"_

_"Laine," she answered. "Laine Kauppinen."_

_Kauppinen. Jill considered this name, testing its familiarity. She had known a boy in high school with the surname Kauppinen; a Finnish exchange student. It was obvious from Laine's accent that she had not spent much time outside of her home country, and very much doubted that she had recently visited Africa, considering her warm clothing._

_'They're kidnapping people from all over the world,' she realised, and she looked up, absorbing the sheer magnitude of the chamber. 'I'll never be able to let them all out. We have to go, we…We'll get help, we'll come back for the others.'_

_"Dom-" she called, spinning around to face him as he helped yet another captive from their tube. But the word choked in her throat. His approach had been stealthy, she had not heard a sound._

_He moved too fast; Laine never stood a chance. Her neck was broken before she was aware they had been found. Dominick jumped in his position several feet away, the arm of the man he helped slipping from his grasp. Wesker was there in an instant, hand buried in the man's chest. Jill could not look, turned away as she heard his cry. Dominick ran, and she saw that he was fast. Without a second for consideration, she screamed at him to run as she took off towards Wesker, overestimating her strength. He knocked her aside effortlessly when she was mere feet away, but further blows did not come. Instead, he ran for Dominick, dragging the man kicking and screaming back onto the platform._

_'You should have ran when you had the chance,' she told herself. There was no chance at escape now, and she hated to think of what her punishment would be. But her ankle appeared to be sprained and she could do nothing but drag herself uselessly along cold metal with her hands._

_Wesker returned, throwing Dominick before her. He was shaking, begging though she knew it was futile. She did not see Wesker pull the pistol from his coat, but she saw the bullet impact, piercing Dominick's skull in a hail of blood and tissue. The coldness of Wesker's action shocked her, though she knew it should not have. She could not even scream, the sound caught in her throat. Now she was the one who shook, covered in her fellow captive's blood._

_"Where are you going?" he asked as she turned and attempted to limp away. He pulled on her belt, head slamming against the floor when she flew backwards._

_And then pain descended, pummelling into her from all directions. She could _feel_ bones break, feel her own blood against her skin. She screamed, but it was useless, begged him to stop but knew it would only spur him on. He was too strong, too fast._

_"Stop!" Excella's voice screeched suddenly, several pairs of footsteps echoing through the metal frame of the platform._

_And to her surprise, he did. At least, she assumed that he did. She could no longer feel pressure, but the pain remained. Oh, did the pain remain._

_"Have you lost your mind?" Excella demanded._

_"It's nothing the tube can't handle," he defended, seemingly indifferent about the situation._

_Blood pooled in her ears, distorting speech. She knew that her lungs had been punctured; breathing was almost possible, and she could hear blood gurgling in her throat with every breath that she drew. She had never experienced pain like this, and wished only that he had finished the job._

_"That is irrelevant!" Excella screamed. "Look at her! It will take weeks for her to heal in the tube, and we were supposed to fit her for the trial in two days!"_

_The light was too bright, the floor too hard. Tears mingled with blood; why wouldn't they _do_ something?_

_"Put her in the tube," Excella sighed. "I suppose it could be much worse."_

The footsteps disappeared into the distance, though apprehension remained. She slid her hands along the grimy surface of the wall, shrinking into the shadows. Whatever happened, she knew that he must not find her.

Footsteps again. She jumped suddenly, falling into an alcove purely by accident. But it was shrouded in shadow; the prefect hiding place. Careful steps fluctuated in volume, until they vanished once again. She held her breath for several long seconds before she exhaled, wiping sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of the lab coat.

And then there was shuffling...a sound in the shadows over her shoulder. She was almost too afraid to turn, trembling as she held her breath and counted to ten.

A hand shot out, pressing to her mouth before she was given the opportunity to scream. Fear paralysed her, and she did not even struggle.

"Found you," Wesker whispered.

And then she fell back, pulled screaming into the shadows.

* * *

**_July 9, 2009. 2:30pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Rebecca did not know how she came to be in this position, but the thought slowly fell into irrelevancy with a well-executed thrust of the hips. She gripped the bench before her, crying out despite attempted repression. What if her colleagues were to hear her? What if one of the doctors walked in?

"Baby, let go," he whispered in her ear. And she let her fingers slip against the worktop, leaning back into the blistering heat of his hard body.

"No," he chuckled. "Not the bench. Here."

He reached for her hand, entwining her fingers in his own. Blood pumped fast through her veins, her skin burning furiously. She gripped tightly, rolling her hips gratefully into his as she welcomed his hungry lips against her neck.

It had been so long since she had felt this way, and even then perhaps it had not been so intense. He possessed immeasurable strength and was not afraid to use it, holding her to him as he pushed inside her, deeper every time.

"Oh, fuck," she panted, unsure how much longer she could hold out. Perhaps he did not want her to?

The hand at her breast snaked down to her navel, tracing the moist curves of her flesh. Her muscles were not as taught as they had once been, but in his arms she felt equipped to take on the world and win. And his fingers danced lower still, urging her on.

It was a simple chanced glance down that stopped her heart dead in its tracks. A simple black pattern against tanned skin, displayed prominently on the arm that braced them both against the workbench. She could just make out the word 'Love' through her bangs, vision blurring as every other sense overloaded.

"Billy?" she gasped. He did not stop, only groaned into her skin as he nudged her jaw, kissing slowly up to her earlobe. Though she turned to gaze upon his face, she knew already that it was truly him. The chest against her back was fantastically broad, the arms that caged her muscular. But more than that, she _felt_ that it was him.

"What is it?" he whispered, breath warm against her skin. She drew shallow, shuddering breaths, unable to articulate her thoughts.

Everything about the moment struck her as wrong, but her body seemed to have difficulty accepting that something that felt so damn good could possibly be anything other than right.

She closed her eyes against the rush of emotion, relaxed her body against his. Because in the end, she was with him, and that was all that mattered.

"Don't...stop," she whispered, covering her mistake. And he laughed softly, turned her head gently to meet her lips with his, so demanding yet still so gentle.

"Yes, Dr. Chambers," he obliged with a smirk.

"Dr. Chambers!"

Her forehead smashed against the upper bunk as she rose suddenly with a 'Where's the fire?' sense of urgency.

She looked around, surveying the interior of the on-call room. No lab, no pleasure...no Billy.

"Ma'am are you okay?" the interrupting nurse asked cautiously as she dropped back down onto the sheets, groaning audibly with a hand clasped to her forehead.

"Ouch," she seethed, rubbing furiously at skin she knew would eventually bruise. But as the pain ebbed away, flashes of an unexpectedly delicious dream drifted into place.

It was then that the confusion hit and she felt her face flush a deep shade of crimson.

It had been eleven years since she had last spoken to Billy, eleven years since she had seen his face. Eleven years, and yet he held enough sway over her mind to walk in her dreams.

"Dr. Chambers, we need a second opinion on Mrs. Harris," the nurse pressed, interrupting her thoughts.

"I'll be there in a minute," she assured the nurse, who promptly turned on her heel and left.

Rebecca tugged on the sleeves of her shirt, the fabric chafing skin that had suddenly grown sensitive. Her heart beat in her ears and her breaths were unsteady.

Of all the men in the world, why Billy?

* * *

**_July 9, 2009. 2:33pm._**

The distant rumble of an old air conditioning unit roused Jill from a painful sleep. Though it soon became obvious that sleep was not exactly what she had fallen into. As she moved, chains rattled against the rusting pipe.

"Ah, you're awake," Wesker observed.

She jumped suddenly, pain flaring through every nerve. Though she cried out, he made no attempt to help her, only watched from his seated position on the floor several feet away. She could feel blood in the crease of her arm, hair matted against her scalp. The lab coat was in tatters, stained the same shade of crimson that coloured her skin. Salty tears mingled with blood but she doubted that he could see her distress. Perhaps he did not want to? He never cared.

"Where is the key?" he asked calmly.

She remained silent.

"Don't mess with me, Jill," he warned. "I know you have it. You stole it from me and I want it back."

As she slowly raised her head she realised that there was nothing of the walls to see. The mottled mass had grown to cover every surface, throbbing now as though the very walls were alive. The whisper remained, lingering on the edge of her senses.

"Answer me!"

"I don't know!" she pleaded, startled into hysterics by the ferocity in his voice. "I...I d-don't know what you're t-talking about."

She was cold despite the humidity, in agony so deep and profound that she wished her body would just give in to the torment and fail.

"I _need_ to get out of here," Wesker growled, moving closer to her, brandishing his blood-stained knife. "I _need_ that key. If you don't tell me-"

"You'll what?" she demanded. "What could you possibly d-do to me that you haven't already? I don't care what you do, I don't- Just get it over with."

_Her eyes opened slowly, though she could not recall willing them to. The light was far too bright and she flinched instinctively, raising a hand to cast a shadow upon her face. _

_The light above was familiar only as that of an operating theatre and she gasped inwardly, memories of surgeons, of Wesker returning. What had he done this time?_

_'Does it matter?' she asked herself. 'Would it make any difference at all? Nobody is coming; nobody even knows you are alive. This is it. This is your fate.'_

_She felt the emotion that always preceded tears, but tears did not come. As she tried to close her eyes against the inevitable onslaught, she found that she could not._

_'What the hell?'_

_She moved her left arm. Nothing. Her right leg. Nothing. She wiggled her toes, shook her shoulders...nothing._

_There was no other soul in the room, only the emptiness. Her body lay there, dormant...waiting. But for what? She put will behind movement, but she did not so much as bat an eyelash._

_Terror rose, a panic attack surely coming._

_'What's going on? What's happening? Help!'_

_But she could not hear her words._

_And then, she screamed._

_Silence._

"You have no idea what I am capable of," Wesker told her. His knife touched upon her skin and she felt the warm trickle of blood beneath the tip.

"I need only keep you alive long enough to learn what I need to," he whispered into her ear. "Remember that."

The knife twisted, carving a deep welt into her arm. This time, her scream echoed through the empty hallways.

* * *

**_July 9, 2009. 2:40pm. 108 Oakville Apartments. Alexandria, VA._**

Claire preferred her sweet corn fresh, but she thought it lucky that she just happened to have a bag of the frozen variety in her freezer. Leon's jaw had begun to swell and he refused every offer of a trip to the hospital, if not to the ER then to see Rebecca.

"Ah!" he protested when she applied a little too much pressure. "Careful. Damn, it feels like I was hit by a _truck_."

She stifled rising laughter and smiled sympathetically, one hand against the sweet corn, the other stroking his hair. She felt as Belle, tending to the wounds of the Beast; cautiously nursing his bruised jaw with reluctant yet curious care. It was as though Chris's blow had struck not only her boyfriend, but their relationship. The desperation she had felt the moment she saw Leon stumble back negated every idea she had ever had of leaving him. She _loved_ him, cared for him immensely.

Closeness had not been commonplace in recent times, but what she felt in that moment could only be described as such; and it struck her that it felt so normal.

In a rare moment of spontaneity, she removed the sweet corn and pressed her lips to his jaw, almost jumping at the feel of his cold skin against her lips.

"Mmm," Leon hummed as his eyelids fluttered shut. "Much better."

Though she giggled, he caught her lips with his own, soft and tender with his actions. And she melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. How could she have doubts when his kiss touched her like this, blinded her with a light that shone internally? She had always been reluctant to believe in the concept of 'the one', yet she knew in moments such as these that it was exactly what he was. He was_ it_.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," he apologised, not once tearing his eyes from hers. "I'll always chase you, no matter what I say. I need you, Claire. Can't that be enough for now?"

She closed her eyes, drowning in his words for a moment of consideration. She would fight, and she would push him away, but in the end it was always she who ended up hurt. So what if he did not love her? His emotion was genuine, his passion exotic and true. That was all she had ever wanted in a relationship.

'So why does the "L" word mean so much to you with him?' she wondered. And she did not know. Perhaps she did look to Chris and Jill too often, when she should be building her own idea of a relationship. She had always wanted what they had found, and had always assumed that it would come easily to her.

'But love isn't easy,' she smiled inwardly, remembering what her parents had once told her, what both her brother and his fiancée had reiterated. 'If what you feel is simple, if it comes with no heartache...then it's not love, just a cheap imitation. We have to fight for the things that are worth having; it makes them all the more worthwhile when they are ours to claim.'

"I guess it has to be," she sighed. "But I am in love with you, Leon. Silence won't change that."

And he smiled up at her, kissing her one final time before he guided the sweet corn back to her jaw.

"I wouldn't want it to."

His breathing slowed as her head came to rest on his chest, and his arms wound around her. Maybe love wasn't everything, she considered. Wasn't simply being content in someone's company enough? She was still young, and she was happy. For now.

"I had a romantic meal planned for us," Leon chuckled quietly. "I guess that's ruined now, huh?"

'Then why does this feel so bittersweet?'

* * *

**_July 9, 2009. 2:44pm._**

Jill's wrists were no longer chained. She assumed that the corroded links had snapped, essentially freeing her. But Wesker made no attempt to restrain her; he did not need to.

"I will give you one last opportunity," he offered, apparently having found the limit of his patience. "Where is the key?"

She sobbed silently on the ground. She did not know the key of which he spoke. There was nothing left of the lab coat, nothing in its pockets or tucked up the sleeve.

Something moved in the shadows behind his tall form and she made to shrink back, only to find that fear paralysed her. There was nothing there, she told herself. There was nobody but Wesker, nothing but his threats and lack of mercy.

"You are pathetic," he sighed in disgust. "I am beginning to wonder why I ever wasted my time with-"

A quick series of movements drew her eyes once again to the shadows, to the talon that emerged from the darkness, impaling Wesker before he knew they were not alone. The scene was hauntingly familiar, and she could do nothing but stare, watching as he cried out, blood spilling onto the floor, spotting against her skin.

_"We have recovered the stolen weapons," Excella droned. "My work here is done."_

_Wesker looked from his reluctantly-accepted 'partner' to Jill, and then back to the man at their feet. He huddled in a ball on the floor, sobbing, crying, pleading._

_"Samahani!" he wept. "Tafadhali!"_

_"Finish this," Wesker instructed her, walking past without a care in the world. She would have protested, but she knew that it was no use. A villager who had stolen a few handguns may as well have been a scientist who had sold out the entire company. No mercy; that was Wesker's way. And she was little more than his puppet these days._

_The man looked to her when Wesker had taken his place by the door. He pleaded with her silently, hoping to find some reason in a face that had once been so friendly. She was not so sure anymore._

_"Tafadhali, naomba msaada?" he asked quietly._

_She raised her arm, and fired. His blood splashed up her arm, staining her suit and spotting her face with red flecks. He was dead before he hit the floor, crumpling into his own tissue._

_And then she felt the tell-tale signs. Tingling, burning. She felt her toes first, then fingers, feet, hands, ankles, wrists...her knees buckled when control returned, no longer held by willpower. Truth be told, she had almost forgotten how to move her own limbs._

_Wesker caught her before she fell to the floor, dragged her lazily through the doorway, down the corridor and into her horribly familiar cell. He did not even lift her onto the bed, merely left her on the floor, kicking her feet aside as he left and secured the door._

_Screams echoed around the cell, as they always did. But now, there was one more. One more face in the crowd, one more voice in the din. Each and every one haunted her and she knew there would always be more to come. She could remember the first, could remember the scream that echoed throughout her mind the moment she snapped his neck; her scream. She was no longer a victim; she was a murderer. She killed in cold blood, not a single emotion on display. Because emotions were bad, they were not allowed. Resistance was bad, disobedience was bad._

_She remained unmoving on the floor, frozen in grief. It was not that she could not move, just that she did not see the point. Jill Valentine was dead. This girl was an echo, an imprinted entity within a body that had once fought for good. She wished that her mind would simply wither and die, would free her from this pain._

_In the darkness, a single tear trickled down her cheek and over her nose. She remained silent and still._

"Jill! Jill, where are you?"

'Chris?'

Somehow, she found the strength to move, though all she could do was limp. She dragged her feet out into the hallway, the wall crumbling as she looked to it for support. The walls bent around her, Chris's voice audible in the distance, calling her name.

She felt the cold slice of the talons upon her back, catching her unaware. Pain followed, and soon too did darkness.

* * *

**_July 9, 2009. 3:00pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Rebecca was thoughtful as her shortened working day drew to a close. The dream had haunted her day, persistent enough to bring her to regret setting down for a nap when the workload eased. She avoided the central workbench with a purpose, unable to shake those images from her mind.

Connolly arrived on time, twirling his car keys around his right index finger.

"You need to buy a new car," he chuckled. Normally, she would have retorted, pointing out the long-term worth of her precious car. But not today.

When the inevitable question came, she shrugged it off. Was she okay? She felt okay, but _too_ okay. If that was even possible.

"I'm...fine," she guessed. "I...had a strange dream earlier."

"About me?" he smirked. "Because I hate to break it to you, honey, but I'm happily married."

She rolled her eyes as she slammed the last of her files into a nearby cabinet, almost knocking the plastic potted plant off the top.

Erotic dreams never bothered her. Like many single individuals the world over, she welcomed them. But it had sewn seeds of curiosity in her mind, and as she had been poring over Patient 17's samples she found that he was all that was on her mind. She could no longer pass it off as simple curiosity; she was _annoyed_. In eleven years, he had not though to contact her once? Not even in the six years since Umbrella's downfall?

"About an old friend," she announced. "I haven't seen him in over a decade, and all of a sudden I can't stop thinking about him."

"Was he cute?" Connolly asked, winking suggestively as he rested his arms on the workbench across from her.

She rolled her eyes, but considered his question. Of course Billy had been attractive. He was tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, and spoke with a voice that would drive any woman crazy. With her eighteen years, she felt that it was not absurd that she felt somewhat attracted to him. But she knew that it was not his looks that had swayed her. It was his bravery and his heart; the man behind the tattoo. It was true that she had never forgotten about him, had thought about him often over the years, but never in this way. Her thoughts regarding him had always been elective, never overwhelming, never this persistent.

"I don't even know where he is," she laughed quietly. "I don't know what he does, if he even remembers me."

Connolly looked down at the bench upon which he rested, pushing himself upright after a moment's thought.

"Do you want to see him again?" It was a stupid question, but she answered it anyway with a slow nod of the head.

"I'd like to at least know what happened to him," she sighed. "He was a good guy."

Connolly smiled and reached for his cell phone.

"I can help," he told her. "I have a cousin who works for the FBI. He owes me a favour; if there's anything to be found on this guy, he'll find it."

Though she attempted to hide the glee that rose within, she knew that she failed. But hope quickly sank. What if he was still on the run? What if-?

'It's been eleven years,' she reminded herself. 'You reported him as dead. How could they find him?'

But there were many possibilities. Perhaps his name had been cleared?

"This will be strictly off the record, right?" she asked. "His past is...a little complicated. I don't want several heavily-armed S.W.A.T. tams bearing down on him if he is out there."

"Strictly beneath the radar," Connolly assured her. "He could lose his job if he got caught, so he sure as hell isn't going to advertise that he hacked into private data files."

"Billy Coen," she rushed, surprised at how quickly she divulged his name. "His name is Billy Coen, ex-United States Marine Corps. Date of birth...uh...nineteen-seventy-two, I think."

She could not quite visualise the memo Bravo Team had found in Arklay Forest and was slightly annoyed that the dog tags she had gazed upon on several occasions did not bear his date of birth.

"I could give you his social security number if you need it," she added.

Connolly laughed again and raised his cell to his ear.

"He's pretty good," he spoke of his cousin. "A name and year of birth should be enough if this guy is ex-Marine. I'll meet you at reception."

And she watched him leave, a strange sense of blissful hope in her heart.

* * *

**_July 9, 2009. 3:15pm._**

Jill did not know how she had gotten away, only that she could not make it another step further. She crashed to the ground in a move that aggravated every wound that she bore.

The walls here were smoother, she noted. There was no grime, no smell...no dirt. She could even see her reflection in the polished surface of the wall. Blood-stained hair, bruised skin...those eyes.

She choked on her own breath, blinking at her reflected self. Her eyes were yellow, tinged with orange. The pupils were slits, nocturnally-adapted.

They were Wesker's eyes.

"No," she pleaded. "No!"

_She heard them coming a mile off. They weren't exactly quiet, but then again it was difficult in this heat. They were heavily armed; an African woman with a Caucasian man. She pressed the binoculars to her eyes, crouched on the rooftop as they approached. The weapons were standard BSAA-issue, their movements almost textbook._

_She watched from behind her eyes, barely a whisper in the back of her mind. They would die, just like the others. They would die and she would remain a puppet in Wesker's 'new world'. So no longer cared about rescue; she did not know if there was anything left of her mind to salvage. She didn't know anything anymore. There was only cold, unforgiving darkness, and-_

_'Chris?'_

_The binoculars trained on the face of the male agent, and she was sure that her heart skipped a beat, despite the loss of outward control. She had not recognised his silhouette, nor the overly muscular physique, but the face...she could never forget that face. He had kept his stubble, kept the same hairstyle he had sported since the day she met him. But there was something different in his expression; a haunting sense of grief. His eyes did not smile the way they used to and the pride he felt in his job seemed to be gone; he was going through the motions._

_Chris disappeared inside the shack, along with his companion. And she pushed experimentally, knowing that the dose was far higher now than it had been upon her last escape attempt. But she froze, her body fighting against what she knew it should do._

_And then it was gone. That glimmer of hope she had felt, gone. And she was too was gone, swinging from the zip wire down the side of the shack and through the window, her descent preceded only by well-timed smoke grenades._

_Her hand reached for Irving the second her body smashed through the window, her mind searching her vision for glimpses of her old partner._

_'Chris!' she screamed silently. 'Chris, it's me!'_

_But he was doubled over on the floor, his companion gasping for breath._

_'Chris!' she screamed, rattling the bars of her cage. 'Help me! Please!'_

_But he could not hear her, and she could not touch him despite how she tried to reach out._

_So close, and yet so very far._

Warm hands pulled her into an even warmer body, pleas falling upon her as she rested, lost blood beginning to pose a problem.

"Jill!" Chris begged. "Jill, please. Please, don't do this."

His warmth was soothing, lulling her into a sleep that promised peace. Strong arms held her tight, head cradled gently as kisses were pressed to her forehead. All the while, the only thought that crossed her mind was that she must taste truly revolting right now.

"Talk to me," he pleaded.

She felt fabric against her arms as he wrapped his coat around her. It acted more to soak up blood than to provide comfort and warmth.

"You came," she whispered, and he laughed softly and humourlessly.

"I'll always come for you," he whispered excitedly, thrilled beyond definition to hear the sound of her voice. "Always."

The soft touch of his fingers to her cheek was enough to create sparks between skin, to provide her with a boost of energy that she so desperately needed. She leaned her head into his chest, opening her eyes just enough to discern the worry in his expression.

"We have to get out of here," he told her. "We-"

Their eyes met, and his face fell void of any emotional tells. She was not sure that her lungs were accepting further dosages of oxygen, but they burned nevertheless. Then she fell from his knees onto the floor, crying out as he let go.

"Y-Your eyes..." he stuttered, pain to rival that which she felt audible in his voice. "You're just like him."

"No!" she cried, desperation setting in. His words struck a deadly blow, but she refused to quit fighting. He was the one person in this world she trusted, the one person she knew would always be there.

Yet here he was, walking away. First emotionally, and now physically.

"Chris!" she screamed. He stopped, but only momentarily, barely glancing over his shoulder at her. He was hurting, she could tell. He was hurting yet he was still walking away, his principles pulling him away from her.

"I came to find the woman I love," he lamented, broken despite his actions. "Not him..."

"No, I'm not-" she insisted. "It's _me_! Help me! Please!"

He fell into shadow with a few more steps, and the light above flickered one final time. There were breaths in the darkness; growls. She trembled against the floor, no strength in her arms to move. The skitter of talons against metal stole her breath, halted her tears.

The pain was inconsequential, bones breaking beneath serrated teeth. And soon the darkness that she knew was more profound.

* * *

**_July 9, 2009. 3:30pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Chris did not know how he got home, only that he was there, painfully sober on the sofa. His knuckles burned, but the guilt was more painful. Was it too late to apologise? Was it too early?

'You fucked up this time.'

He shook thoughts from his mind with irritation as he moved from the sofa and strode towards the staircase, not wanting to waste one more minute on regret. If he was going to nap, he was going to do it properly, in the comfort of his own bed, not sliding off the edge of the sofa.

But his bed was already taken.

Jill had not shared a bed with him since the last night they spoke. In fact, she seemed to be avoiding him. The days were awfully empty without her, but he still could not bring himself to throw a word or two her way on the few occasions they had sat down to eat together. He had never though that two people could live together and yet not exchange a single word

She shifted in her sleep and for a moment he considered lying down beside her, perhaps taking her into his arms. But then reality caught up to his heart and he left, closing the door quietly behind him so that he did not disturb her.

And so he ended up back on the sofa, head in his hands.

'Coward.'

Her last words to him echoed in his head, the wound sliced deeper with each and every blow. He had not slept at all that night, and had spent most of the next day in a state of inebriation. It was easier to handle that way, with reality suspended.

Albert Wesker was a monster. He hungered for power and the means to procure it. But more than that, he had no regard for human life; he exerted power over the weak, broke them down until there was nothing left.

Was that how Jill saw him? As an oppressor? Did she look into his eyes and see everything that had traumatised her? Was he part of the problem, part of the past she needed to forget?

_She refused to sit on the bed with him, claiming that she was afraid she would break down if he held her. She thought that she needed to be strong in this moment, and who was he to claim otherwise? It simply pleased him to see strength within her._

_All had been well initially. Several days in the base medical facility had seen the physical aspects of her captivity resolved for the most part, and she had shown no signs of less visible damage. She had laughed with Sheva over lunch, had flashed him a smile as she requested that he help her move the two single beds of their assigned room together - the twin came only after her insistence that she did not wish to be alone. But she had spent far too long in the shower and a worried check brought him to find her huddled on the floor, sobbing into her knees as water cascaded down upon her._

_"Was it really only two and a half years?" she asked. He nodded solemnly, heart wrenching as she choked on the realisation._

_"It felt more like ten."_

_He grimaced, recalling every word she had spoken to him when he had finally coaxed her out of the small shower room. His hatred for Wesker hit another peak when he heard all that he had done to her, all that he had forced her to do in his name. Part of him feared that there was no bouncing back from this, no recovery for her._

_Without a second thought, he moved to her, kneeled before her and lifted her chin between his thumb and forefinger._

_"It's over now," he told her, looking deep into her eyes. "It's over. You're going home, and I promise I'm going to take care of you. Whatever it takes, Jill."_

_He places a chaste kiss on her nose, as though to prove his point._

_"I missed you," she wept. "So much."_

_It was strange to him to see her so weak and so vulnerable, but his mind focused only on her, and the ways in which he could offer comfort. The blow must have been severe, he realised. But he would not allow it to be final._

_"I don't suppose you have a girlfriend?"_

_He smiled, moving his fingers to her cheek._

_"I do," he told her, but regretted his decision when her eyelids swooped down to capture tears. "And she is the most beautiful girl in the world. Brunette, blonde...it doesn't matter. But she does look sexy in a little green towel."_

_Her eyes opened again, and she glanced at the myrtle-green towel she clutched to her bosom._

_"I'd do anything for her," he continued with a smile. "And I live my life in fear that she will realise she could do so much better than me."_

_"I couldn't," she smiled, reaching for the collar of his shirt. "You could have died searching for me, but you didn't stop. No other man would do that, Chris. You're special. You're one of a kind and I'm glad that I found you."_

_He smiled, knowing in that instant that though things were far from okay, everything would be alright._

_"You saved my life. If 'I love you' is not a good enough excuse, call it repayment. The last two years have been hell without you. There was _never_ anyone else."_

_It was she who kissed him, pressing soft lips to his. He thought that he may just implode from the pressure, succumbing to the sweet sensation that he had not felt in so long. His body was no longer his own to command, and soon he found himself urging her to her feet, encircling her slender body with his arms. It was as though she had never left, but the years apart showed in their desperation, so much so that when her hands began to claw at his clothing, he did not protest her actions. And when her towel fell to the floor, every conventional sense abandoned him. The room melted away, as did torment both recent and historic. She was here, in his arms, and that was all that mattered._

His thoughts lingered on a night long since past. It was the night their child had been conceived, the night where little sleep had come to them. If she truly saw him as an oppressor, why had she made love to him that night? Why had she accepted his proposal?

'I don't know what to do,' he realised, and it was not without grief that he accepted this fact. He always had an answer, and yet here, where it mattered, he had none.

The misplaced name that she had uttered had hurt him more than he had ever though a single word could. He had given everything to her, had cared for her and cherished her. All of his usual anger bled away when he was near her, and he showered her with love and affection that many did not think him capable of. He had given her all this and more, and yet she equated him to the man who had imprisoned, tortured and enslaved her for over two years.

He had shed tears over the incident, though always alone, always away from suspicious minds. As far as the world knew, he never cried.

'Would she be better off without me?' he wondered. Because through it all, she was still his main concern.

If she truly saw her former captor in him, perhaps it would be best if he left, if he gave her time alone to come to terms with her trauma? Maybe the time apart would do them both good. It would be painful, but in the long term it would be worth it. All he wanted was for her to be better again, to smile and actually _feel_ it.

But all the while, he couldn't help but feel that he was truly going to lose her this time.

He had only just begun to lose himself in his thoughts when her scream cut through the quiet living room. His blood ran cold, the sound chilling every nerve. And he ran, finding her bolt-upright in their bed, clutching her chest in terror.

"Jill!" he called as he leapt onto the bed, reaching for her. "Are you al-"

But she was inconsolable and threw his hands aside, pushing and screaming as he tried to comfort her. She was stubborn, but he was insistent and held on to her, fearful that his actions would elicit thoughts of their former Captain but knowing that there was no other way to calm her down and get her to just listen to the sound of his voice.

"No matter what, Chris," she screamed. "No matter _what_!"

He did not understand the meaning of her words, but could tell by the disconnected look in her eyes that she still remained somewhat suspended in the nightmare she had emerged from.

"Listen to me," he spoke calmly, swearing vehemently when her hand caught the side of his jaw. "It was just a dream. Just a dream."

"No, it's not!" she cried, her right hand beating weakly against his shoulder until energy left her and she gripped his T-shirt. "How can you say that? It's no different. It's no..."

He took the opportunity to pull her into his chest, leaning against the headboard for support. She continued to struggle, but there was no will behind her movements, no strength or determination.

"It is, baby," he whispered. "This is real, okay? _I'm_ real, and I'm here."

At last, her movements stopped and she held onto him for dear life, shaking in his arms. He felt utterly useless, able to do nothing but hold her and hope that it would be enough. After a week of ignorance, did she believe that his actions were sincere?

"It doesn't matter," she sobbed. "Why won't he just let me go?"

Her words drew awaiting tears from his eyes and he tightened his grip, terrified. It came as no surprise to find that he too shook, a single hand gently holding her head to his chest so that she would not see his weakness. But tears fell onto her hair; surely she would notice?

Wesker's hold on her extended beyond the grave, choking her despite all she had achieved. There was nothing left of his body, yet his intentions lived on inside her mind. His ghost haunted them both; he was killing her, and Chris could do nothing but watch.

"No," he told her, swallowing his grief to bring stability to his voice. It was strange that this brought a quiet snarl to his voice. "You don't belong to him - you _never_ did."

It was obvious that she did not believe him, and he resigned himself to failure.

Her sobs quietened eventually, and she lay still against his chest, perhaps sleeping. But his tremors outlasted hers, his tears continuing to fall when her breaths became steady. Because no matter how tight he held her, it could not chase away the harsh reality of the present. He was unsure of the exact moment he had stumbled across the realisation, but he knew that there was something about her that had gone undiagnosed; something malevolent that had emerged from the ashes of her misfortune.

There was nothing he could do; he was no psychiatrist, and none would listen to him. He did not know where to begin to describe what had consumed her, and was hounded with the sneaking suspicion that she was no wiser than he.

He knew only one thing for certain: he had never been so afraid in his life.

**AN - Please review :)**


	6. God Help Me, I've Come Undone

**AN** - Okay, so it's another long one ^_^. Uh, I'm a little nervous about this chapter (heh, but aren't I always?). I did several rewrites of some sections but in the end I think it came out alright. The first part of the story is drawing to a close, so answers will come very soon. Chapter title is from Give Me a Sign by Breaking Benjamin.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed: _Thaleron, Kenshin13, Black Metalmark, 86, tek, Ninja-Gnome, xSummonerYunax, Ultimolu, Jocelyn Torrent_ and_ Afro Spirit_. I love seeing the same names every update ^_^. It really means a lot to know there are readers who have stuck by me so long. You all rock!

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

_**Chapter Five**__ - God help me, I've come undone_

_'So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives;  
they sit undramatically by the roadside like poor beggars,  
and we see them only from the corners of our eyes, if we see them at all.  
The idea that they have been waiting there for us rarely, if ever, crosses our minds.  
Yet they do wait, and when we have passed, they gather up their bundles of memory  
and fall in behind, treading in our footsteps and catching up, little by little.'_  
~Stephen King~

_**July 15, 2009. 2:30pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA.**_

Jill had been napping again, as she always did. Every second of the night was precious now that she had taken to sleeping in her own bed, beside Chris. Truly, she did not know why she had ever shied away from him in the first place.

She rarely dreamed when she napped now. That in itself was a blessing.

There was a small white seal against the bed sheets where Chris usually lay, obviously placed there whilst she was sleeping. Their relationship had returned to amicable terms, but little more, and so it both touched and surprised her when he returned home with the soft toy in his possession. Seals were her favourite animals, and he claimed that he could not walk past the store when he glimpsed it through the window. There was something a little off about the toy. One eye was sewn differently to the other, and it appeared a little lopsided. Jill thought it was cute; Chris could not look at it without laughing.

She picked it up gently, smoothing fur back out of its eyes.

"It's not a symbol of his love," Wesker chuckled. "It's a seal, nothing more."

Jill glared at him, rising to her feet to carry about her business as though he were not there. It seemed that anger had taken the place of fear as the emotion of choice in his presence. Fear had peaked, had reached a level where it became commonplace. The time alone that her halted relationship with Chris had provided offered her moments of reflection, and soon she realised that anger was the correct response to Wesker's actions.

Dr. Keller had called it an emotional switch, had explained that it was perfectly normal, perhaps even a step forward. She felt anger towards everything he had taken from her, towards everything he had done to her. It was overwhelming at times, but she found it easier to handle than the depression that had apparently ebbed away. Dr. Keller's explanation for pulling her from the anti-depressants was that while states of depression continued to linger, they were no longer of the intensity of an additional condition, falling instead into the symptoms of PTSD. The dosage of anti-anxiety medication she had been prescribed had been increased, and though Dr. Keller gave no definite reason, she knew that the doctor had picked up on something.

'And if she offered no explanation it means that she doesn't know what it is,' she realised.

She felt Wesker's touch upon her bare skin, missing the sleeve of her tee by a mere fraction of an inch.

"You're going to join me sooner or later, Jill," he sighed. "Why not give in? I promise I will be good company."

It was the back of his fingers that stroked her arm, lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. She did not freeze this time; she jumped. In a matter of seconds, she was by the door of the ensuite, clutching the seal as though it were a lifeline.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded. And he flickered and distorted before her eyes, like an image played through a failing projector.

"You're mine, Jill," he pointed out, with an added smile on her name. "Don't pretend that doesn't _thrill_ you."

In truth, it made her sick to her stomach. But his words sounded absurd, to the point where she was unsure if she had even heard them at all.

Wesker was many things, but he was not emotional in any respect. Love, respect, friendship...it was all lost on him. Even lust. She had witnessed Excella throw herself at him enough times to know that she would have dropped her panties for him at a moment's notice. But even when she had exchanged her fashionable business attire for more provocative clothing, he had not shown the slightest hint of interest in her. Even Chris's eyes would wander when a waitress dipped a little too lo over their table; it was natural male instinct. With Excella's surgically enhanced bosom mere inches from Wesker's face on many convenient occasions, she had continued to be shocked by each and every denial that he threw her way. He simply was not interested.

Terrified though she was to admit it, Jill knew that she was another fine example of his lack of sexual appetite. She was his slave for what had felt like years; anything he ordered, she had no choice but to obey. It would have been so easy and convenient for his orders to delve into personal matters. He could have bent her any which way he pleased and she would have been powerless to resist. She could have been the perfect lover, and yet he had shown not one hint of interest in using her for anything other than violent purposes. She had lived her captive life in fear that he would do such a thing, but in retrospect she knew that she should have paid more attention to the blank expression on the occasions that he had pulled her naked from the stasis tube.

It was evident that the virus had eradicated all human need from both his body and mind. Yet here he was, displaying all that he had lost.

"Who are you?" she asked with a trembling voice. "_What_ are you?"

With a short spurt of laughter, he was gone.

She returned to the bed before her legs gave way, re-plumping the seal that had been somewhat squished by her hold.

'What is happening to me?'

She had been so quick to accept her position, never once lending thought to 'what if?'. Over the weeks Wesker had appeared to her, she had not so much as attempted to understand his appearance. Why was he here? _How_ was he here? He was real to her, but evidently not to Chris. Even now, when her thoughts wandered to this subject she found that a thick fog descended over her mind, as though she was not meant to understand it, only to fear it.

'He's still alive,' she sighed inwardly; the answer she had accepted without question. 'Maybe not physically, but he's still here...inside me.'

Confusion became painful, and she gripped the seal tightly once again, tears falling on to her hands. She had always hated crying, yet it had become an everyday occurrence. There was so much to cry over, so much to mourn.

Her hand moved to her abdomen and fingertips slid beneath the fabric of her tee, feeling the taught skin of her stomach, the toned muscles that she would have gladly traded for her pregnancy.

'I don't even know if I lost a daughter or a son. I don't know anything anymore.'

She barely remembered her old self, the one that would hide her emotional side from all but those close to her. They had called her tough, some had called her a bitch, but she was proud of who she was and those that mattered in her life were proud also. She had always felt weak beneath it all, powerless in the grand scheme of things, but she had hidden it well and found strength to compensate for that which she did not feel came naturally. Now, all she found were masks, and each one was as ugly as the last.

"Are you okay?" Chris asked, startling her a little but not enough to elicit a response. The question had been asked so many times that it had become somewhat redundant. She considered lying to him, dusting off a mask to hold to her face.

"Not really, no," she admitted, with less reluctance than she expected. Because what would lying amount to?

He settled down beside her on the bed, giving her knee a reassuring squeeze, though his eyes avoided her.

"We need to talk," he told her. It was strange how those words felt so final. They usually preceded a break-up, and though she was now sure of his love, she feared that this may be the case.

"I'm sorry," she rushed, before he could make his case. It was all she could say, but still it did not feel like enough. "I know I'm not the easiest person to live with right now. I'm sorry that I hit you. You were only trying to help, you didn't deserve it."

He nodded carefully, showing that he understood. Though he was quick to offer her reassurance, he never rejected an apology when it was due, and she would never let him.

"I...I'm so confused," she laughed bitterly, knowing that there was not a note of humour in her thoughts. "I don't understand anything anymore."

Though his hand did not move from her knee, he offered no words of reassurance.

"These past few weeks have been...hell," he admitted, finally meeting her eyes. "I'm not going to lie to you. I never wanted things between us to come to this."

'Neither did I,' thought Jill, but the words did not follow.

"I have to know... What do you see when you look at me?" he asked, barely choking out his words. She could see that he was in pain but could not bring herself to comfort him; how could she when it was obvious that she was the source?

"Is it him? Because-"

"What?" It was barely a word, more a sound that slipped out with a single breath.

Even the smallest of problems that cropped up between them these days could be traced back to Wesker. She had almost forgotten about her slip of the tongue. It had seemed so trivial at the time, and he had not brought it up since. After all, it was not he who had ceased talking to her; neither had spoken a word. That was, of course, until the nightmare that had brought her back into his arms.

She had been so scared that she was losing him, losing everything. In her mind it was better to see him as the one who was walking away than to see herself as the one who was pushing. It seemed ridiculous to her now, but the thought of her driving him away was more terrifying than the thought of him leaving her.

"No!" she insisted. "No, no, no! What I said, it...it was a slip of the tongue."

Had she thought that this would be enough to convince him?

"There must have been something there," he pushed. And his worry struck her deep; he truly believed in his theory, and it was killing him. "You wouldn't just-"

"You wouldn't let me go!" she spluttered. It was something she had not wanted to voice, yet here it was. "I know your intentions were different, but you have to understand..."

She cried out when he flinched and turned away, a hand running nervously through his hair. She gripped his arm with her left hand to prevent him from leaving, moving her right to the back of his neck, where she wrapped her fingers around the short hairs at the base of his neck.

"I would _never_ hurt you the way he did," he told her firmly with watering eyes, desperate, it seemed, to ensure that she knew this fact.

"I know," she assured him soothingly. "Chris, you are the only person in this world I feel I can trust one hundred percent. But this isn't easy for me."

Her voice cracked and she felt tears building but knew that crying made no sense. But then his arms moved around her, lips pressed to her hair. His hold was possessive, but she welcomed it in the knowledge that she would always be safe within those arms.

"I don't know what it means to be free anymore," she admitted, both to Chris and to herself. "I still feel so lost."

Chris pulled away slowly, an expression of sheer discomfort sending fear into her heart.

"If you need some time..." he breathed, having difficulty voicing his thoughts. "If you need time away from me, from _us_... I just want you to know that I'm...okay with that."

It was obvious from his tone that he was not. If it weren't for his undeniable uncertainty, she was quite sure that she would have fainted. Was he suggesting that they take a break?

"I'm no," she sniffed, unable to find a smile within her. She was caught between the fear of his offer and the rush of knowing that it was the last thing he wanted. "I need you. But more than that, I _want_ you here. You're not getting your ring back; I love you too much to let you go."

Finally, he cracked a smile as he reached for her ring finger, feeling the setting of the diamond as though to determine that it was where it should be.

"Can we start talking about the wedding again?" he asked, smile lingering. "Because I can't wait to marry you."

'And it will give me something to focus on,' she recited, reading his thoughts through his eyes. She appreciated his concern, but their wedding was one thing she did not wish to be marred by all that had afflicted her.

"Hey!" he called softly, and she realised that her expression had fallen with her thoughts. "I know that things have changed, but-"

But what? She could see that he was equally as lost, searching for something that he could possibly say or do. But there was nothing, and he knew it.

She opened her mouth to voice her thoughts, to lament the fact that she was stuck in this damn rut with no visible way out. But then she turned to him, and saw that he gazed upon her with all the love he had shown the day their relationship had begun.

'What am I thinking?' she realised. 'How often do moments like these appear?'

And so she swallowed her thoughts, choosing instead to press her lips to his neck, closing her eyes as his warmth washed over her. She was sure that he had more words to speak, but they became lost on him, eyes closed to her as she moved her left hand to cup his cheek. Her thumb brushed against stubble, eyes scrutinising every inch of his skin. Her thoughts were born innocent, though they soon evolved and strayed down a path she had hoped to stay clear of. Would their child have had his eyes? His darker skin tone? Would it have had her nose? How about her lips, or her natural brunette tone?

She was about to turn away when his lips found hers, and she melted. Every moment was precious to her these days, but there was something different about this. Her fingers began to explore, tracing the ridges of muscle she would never admit that she loved - she had far too much fun teasing him. And then they too began to stray, sliding beneath his shirt to feel his toned abs, and then back down over his jeans, coming to rest where her intentions were clear.

His breath hitched and his lips separated from hers. She felt his hesitance, but knew it had nothing to do with lacking desire. She saw the switch in his eyes, the 'fuck it' that returned his kiss with more vigour than previously. Strong arms held her, firm hands soon discovering her lack of bra.

It had been so long since he had touched her like this and she felt it in every movement. Emotions that had escaped her came rushing back, desperately wanting a piece of the action.

"Take it off," she gasped, tugging at the bottom of his T-shirt. And he obliged only too willingly.

The shirt had barely touched the floor when she pushed him back, straddling him with both newfound confidence and energy. After the incident that had separated them for a fortnight, she knew that he would be reluctant in his passion and she was simply not in the mood. She knew what she needed to chase the stress away and could tell from the growing bulge against her leg that he needed this too.

Nails raked down his chest, and she felt every breath that he inhaled. Pushing herself upright, she began to work at his belt, fingers brushing the sparse trail of hair that led from just beneath his navel and disappeared into his boxers. But then he pulled his hands from her shorts, hitching up her tee with his thumbs as he traced the curve of her waist.

"Stop it," she breathed, batting his hands away. "Just leave it."

"What is it?" he asked breathlessly. His hands fell to her waist, resting gently on the swell of her hips.

She glanced nervously at the windows that stretched from either side of their bed. Sunlight streamed through the glass unimpeded. Since her return, she had not been naked before him in such light. They had always made love at night, by the light of the bedside lamps or even simply the moon. It was more convenient, and she found that the shadows hid her scars.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, sensing her trepidation. "Take it off."

Though she did not move to shed her tee, she allowed him to slide it from her body, using her arms to cover her chest. But his grip on her wrists was firm, and he pulled them aside gently, exposing her spoiled femininity. She had never felt quite so embarrassed in his presence. He had always complimented her skin, and had made no secret his love of her shapely breasts. Now, both were effectively ruined.

She glanced down at the healing wound, surprised to find that it was not as profound as it had been the last time she dared to look at it. But the skin was still blemished, circular scars still present. She intended to get the skin treated as soon as it had adequately healed, but she still had many months to go. Unable to gaze upon it any longer, she looked away.

"So beautiful."

She felt pressure against the mark, and she turned back as Chris's lips pressed softly to her skin. She closed her eyes to the sensation, chasing back tears that threatened to fall.

'He doesn't care,' she realised. And the sense of urgency returned, sparks flickering within her abdomen, igniting a fire that raged throughout her body. Taking the opportunity, she freed him of his jeans.

She felt her will and her mind melt when they both fell back onto the bed, groaning audibly as his teeth grazed her earlobe. Her shorts and panties were gone before she registered his touch, and she reached down to slide her fingers over his boxers, teasing him before she tugged at the pesky fabric, shedding the final article.

His eyes were glazed as he smiled up at her, hands caressing her curves. It had been so long since she had seen him so happy.

'It's you,' whispered a quiet voice in the back of her mind. 'You're hot stuff, Valentine.'

There was no need for foreplay; both felt how necessary this was, and she knew already that it would be over quickly. Love was secondary, apology and raw lust taking precedent. That was the beauty of make-up sex in her eyes; it was not about giving, but of taking as much comfort as was physically possible.

She gripped him with the hand that did not prop her upright, leaning down to touch her lips to his as she guided him into her heat. He groaned her name as she rolled her hips back, slowly taking him all in. With her hands, she felt every muscle clench, his back arching as his grip on her hips loosened. But still, he pushed up to meet her as his large, rough hands glided up her damp stomach, fingertips briefly touching the underside of her breasts before he slid them back down again. But his skin barely made contact with hers, simply traced the outline of her curves in a way that pulled her body into his touch.

Snarling, she batted his hands away and ground her hips down onto his, carving pink trails down his abdomen with her fingernails as she felt herself stretch to accommodate his generous girth. He knew damn well what he was doing, and she did not need the smirk to tell her so. While she had initially believed that his submission had been out of fear, she now questioned his motives.

Fortunately, she was not in the mood to be coy, or to be a good little lover. All of the fear that had built up in her chest sank into the anger she felt towards her unwelcome visitor, and the anger ebbed away with every roll of her hips. If Chris wanted to play, then he could play, but he could do it on his own time. Fingers returned to her breasts, barely pressing against slick skin. And she moved her legs, finding a position that allowed her to bear down on him harder and faster, deeper and deeper, until she could feel his control slipping in the shuddering movements of his hips.

She was so damn close, throwing her head back as his touch became more insistent. But then his right hand smoothed up the skin of her thigh, his thumb breaking every unwritten rule. And the circles that he traced with his thumb threw her off-kilter, sending warmth shooting prematurely throughout her body. Just when her strength began to wane, he gripped her hips and thrust up to meet her, catching her as she fell onto him. She could not control the convulsions that wracked her body, could do nothing but swear in annoyance amidst an involuntary scream. And the orgasm that ripped through her served to unravel every knotted ball of tension in her body, draining strength from every muscle.

When her vision cleared, she was on her back, Chris's lips at her ear, whispering soothing words as he began again, hips pressing her into the soft mattress. She knew that fighting was futile when he took control and, as expected, she slipped straight into delirium when calloused fingers brushed her nipple.

All the while, he whispered in her ear, reiterating beauty that she simply could not see. But she believed him; how could that voice be wrong? And she could not cry out without his lips catching her exclamations. Her skin seemed hyper-sensitive, reacting to the way his thighs rubbed against hers, to how her hands slipped against perspiration on his back. As though to combat her efforts, he slid a hand beneath her, pressing her body to his, stomachs touching sensually, the hard muscles of his chest pressing to soft breasts.

Somewhere along the line, she had forgotten just how damn _good_ he was.

She felt powerless to return all that he gave her, but weakly placed soft kisses along his jaw. His pace was so much slower than hers, much more loving and sensual. But somehow, it was more intense, to the point where she did not know if it was his hips or his heart that suspended her in ecstasy. Wave after wave of sticky sweet heat washed over her, and she cursed that he was blessed both in endowment and skill; she was growing close to exhaustion, yet her body refused to yield, and her heart remained drunk on tender touches and whispered words.

"Fuck...Chris..." she groaned, her nails breaking the skin of his back. And she stole a forceful kiss, tilting her head back when his lips fell to her neck, nipping the skin all the way down to the curve in her clavicle. And he called her name as the pace picked up, his groans mingling with her incoherent babbles as she felt pressure build within her abdomen. She moved her arms, pulling his body as close in to hers as was possible, feeling the many muscles in his back flex as he drove into her, deeper each time.

But suddenly, his shoulders did not feel so broad. Suddenly, his soft hair was coarse to the touch, the scent of his musk obscured by that of blood and smoke. As his cheek brushed against hers, his skin did not feel the same; it was stubble-free, and more aged.

And then he pulled back, and Wesker grinned down at her through animalistic yellow eyes.

She screamed, pushing him away with the little strength that remained at her disposal. He was gone in an instant, and she dove for freedom, slipping against the sheets, held up only by the hand that reached for her arm. She knew that she would have fallen without his support, but fought anyway, screaming, beating at his wrist with her free hand. The light brown carpet rushed up to meet her, and the impact was painful, jarring every bone in her body. But she crawled, pulling herself far away from the bed.

The wall impeded her progress, but she cowered against it, drawing her knees into her chest as though it could offer some form of protection.

"Jill!" Chris's voice called through her hysteria. "Baby, look at me! Look at me."

With a hand on either cheek, she could not disobey. She gazed into those kind blue eyes, sensed worry and concern at a magnitude that could not be faked.

"Chris..." she gasped. His hands fell from her cheeks, but he made no move to comfort her; he waited for her to make that move, to seek comfort of her own accord. And she did, falling into his open arms, fingers finding soft hair that she knew belonged to her fiancé.

But he did not hold her back. Instead, he pushed her away gently, his touch burning through her skin. It was this act that broke the dam, and tears streamed down her cheeks before she was aware of the emotion. However, he did not leave, but leaned back, reaching to pull the topmost sheet from the bed. Mere seconds later, it was around her shoulders and he was beside her against the wall, arms holding her to him.

He said nothing, simply held her, pressing kisses to her hair. But still, her resolve faltered and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight, shaking in lingering terror.

'What happened?' she wept internally. 'What the hell was that?'

She had not lied to him; she in no way equated him to her captor. Her mind taunted her, laughing at misfortune that she now felt extended beyond reasonable levels. It had seemed so real, yet nothing could have been further from the truth.

And Chris? He was patient despite frustration she knew must have been nigh on painful in that moment. But his pleas to know what it was that had brought her to scream beneath him went unanswered. How could she tell him? The name had almost torn them apart; the image could do so much more. It would cripple him.

"He is going to leave you anyway," Wesker laughed, and she jumped, suddenly skittish. Her arms slipped to his waist and she succumbed to his warmth, tears running down his chest.

"Please don't leave me," she begged, ashamed of how low she had stooped but fearful of how close the possibility was to being true now. "I'm so scared."

* * *

_**July 15, 2009. 4:45pm. Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA.**_

Leon's phone had remained on silent on the journey from DC, hands-free kit lost somewhere on the back seat of his car. He knew that he had rushed the paperwork to clock off early, but quite frankly, they could chase him down if they wanted him to redo it today.

It was a casual call from Rebecca that had set him in such a high gear that one of his co-workers had unplugged the coffee machine to 'cut him off at the source'. Rebecca rarely called, and when she did it was always for a favour, and always because neither Chris, Barry, nor any of her other male friends had been available. Sure enough, she was looking for Chris, who had left Jill alone in their home to run some unnamed errand which, she assumed, was visiting his sister. Given that she was still incredibly angry with him, Leon doubted this and so made his excuses, filed the last of his reports and then took off before any more paperwork could be thrown his way.

The journey had not been pleasant, having realised that he did not know Jill's address then, when he had finally got through to Claire, his sat-nav decided to crap out half way down the interstate. He eventually found the neighbourhood, but by then he had forgotten the house number.

He pulled his car alongside a driveway that bore a silver Mazda, recognising the registration code. Just to be sure, he checked the mailbox when he exited his vehicle.

"24, Redfield," he read aloud. "It's not exactly a common name."

He could remember Chris's insistence that they use 'Redfield-Valentine' until the wedding, but knew that Jill's threats of ripping her name off if he dared would soon come true.

She answered the door in her bath robe, drying her hair with a hand towel.

"Oh," she gasped, evidently expecting her fiancé. "I thought... Uh, come in?"

"Is this a good time?" he asked. He did not care if it wasn't, but thought that he should ask out of courtesy.

"Um..." she considered. "Sure, but...give me two minutes to find some pants, okay?"

And with a light blush to her cheeks, she rushed upstairs to return a few moments later, robe open to expose clean terry shorts and an old, faded S.T.A.R.S. tee. He balked at the sight of her, so used to witnessing her in sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt. While she had no reservations flaunting her long, toned legs prior to her disappearance, they all knew that she dealt with self-esteem issues - amongst many others - since her return.

And Leon's oh-so-intelligent response to her attire?

"Holy crap."

Jill glanced down, pulling tight her robe.

"Sorry," she blushed. "It's hot."

He bit back a multitude of comments and simply smiled, his thoughts innocent.

"Don't apologise," he told her. "It's good to see you...well, back to the old you."

She grimaced through a forced smile, but he could tell that she understood his point. While the emotional issues remained, at least she had once again begun to take care of her appearance; it was a sure sign of steps taken towards recovery.

"Come here," he laughed, enveloping her with his arms. She seemed surprised at first, but returned his friendly embrace without encouragement. "We miss you. Show your face every once in a while; Chris isn't the only one who loves you."

She laughed softly as they pulled apart, signalling for him to take a seat on the sofa. She may have doubted that his words were genuine, but they were. They had all believed that having her back would mean that everything would return to normal. But that deceptively enjoyable night that Chris brought her to Barry's monthly barbecue was followed by almost four months of hiding away and rejecting every offer of company they extended.

He had often felt that she was a sister to him, but did not truly understood just how deep that connection ran until Chris announced her supposed death. Talking to her was always so easy, and he always knew where he stood with her, which was more than he could say for Claire.

'And that is why you came here today,' he reminded himself.

But carefully rehearsed questions abandoned him, the fading bruise at his jaw burning a more immediate concern into his mind.

"How are you?" he asked. Chris's drunken assault repeated over and over in his mind, and though anger had been his first response, it had slowly ebbed away as he considered how dishevelled his friend had appeared in the brief moment that preceded the blow.

Whatever had gotten into the older man, Leon knew that Jill would likely be bearing the brunt of that anger.

"I'd say coping," she laughed humourlessly. "But you always know when I'm lying."

"What about Chris?" he wanted to know, empathetic to her plight. "I know he's been drinking a lot. Is...Is he treating you okay?"

She nodded as the corners of her lips twitched downwards.

"I wish I could say the same for how I've been treating him," she admitted as she stubbornly brushed stray tears from beneath her eyes. I guess it's my fault that he's been drinking and working out so much."

Leon considered telling her of the incident with Chris, but decided against it. He had received an apology - along with several threats over his treatment of Claire - and was only too willing to leave it all behind him. It was evident that Chris and Jill were going through a lot, and he did not want to add to their troubles.

"But you came here for a reason," she pointed out, evidently not comfortable with their current topic. "What do you want?"

He frowned at her diversion but dropped the subject.

"It's Claire, isn't it?" she asked. "Why else would you come to me for advice?"

"Well, you do know more about Redfields than most of us," he smiled. "In fact, you're going to be one soon."

A distinctive expression of 'maybe' flickered in her eyes, and he reached for her shoulder in comfort.

"What's the problem, Leon?" she sighed. "Because I was about to go lie down when you arrived."

Inwardly, he huffed. He had not spoken to her in roughly a month and now she did not seem too happy to see him.

"She told me that she loved me," he revealed.

And Jill laughed, shaking her head gently with a smile. He could think of a million retorts but bit back every one.

"Honey, if that's your idea of a problem, I wish I had it so good," she laughed. He did not appreciate the hilarity she found in his admission but smiled awkwardly anyway.

"The problem isn't what she said, it's...well, it's how I reacted," he pointed out. Jill blinked, waiting for him to elaborate. "I said nothing."

The amusement fell from her expression, and she took her bottom lip between her teeth, nodding though he did not know what for.

"Okay," she breathed. "Not the best answer."

What had he expected to hear? He knew that his reaction had been asinine, as had his approach to their relationship since that day. But her admission had caught him completely off-guard. She had always emphasised the casual nature of their relationship, and he had accepted that. Anything to be with her.

He voiced his thoughts, perplexed by her sudden wish to introduce love to their relationship and his sudden reluctance to admit that it had been there all along.

"Do you love her?" Jill asked. "You're making excuses, but isn't that all this comes down to?"

"I do," he admitted. It shocked him to find that the words fell of their own accord. If only it were so simple with Claire. "But every time I bring emotion into relationships, I end up getting hurt. When Ada-"

And there it was; that name. Jill raised her eyebrows knowingly and shifted her position to face him.

"Is Ada the problem?" she asked.

"No!" he insisted, though realised that he recited the answer rather than revealed it. So used to denying her, perhaps that was where his problem lay.

Had he ever loved Ada? Maybe. But he was nothing more than a pawn to her, and she played him like a fool every time. He did not even know if Ada Wong was her true name. He had conducted many searches on just about every database at his disposal, but turned up nothing on her. He did not even know if she was American. Her accent suggested the possibility but with no record of her birth, he refused to commit himself to a theory.

One thing was for sure; she had him transfixed, in whatever way that may be. He was desperate to know more about her, frustrated when he could find nothing. And therein lay the appeal. She was a mystery to him, and one he was desperate to solve, almost to the point of obsession in the past.

"I don't know," he sighed. "I know that Claire is jealous of her, but... Some parts of your past you just can't let go, no matter how hard you try. I love Claire, and she has no reason to worry. But Ada is always there, between us. I try to move on, but all Claire does is drag her back into the picture."

Jill exhaled slowly through her nose, smiling softly at a thought that flitted through her mind.

"Redfields are very jealous," she pointed out with a gentle smirk. "But it was never Carlos's crush on me that riled Chris into hatred. He knew that I loved him and back then he was arrogant enough to believe he was the hottest damn thing on the planet. Carlos was there when he wasn't; he saved my life and he helped me escape. To Chris, that was a huge failure on his behalf because he felt that protecting me was _his_ job. I guess he preferred to see me as a damsel in distress, and for a tall dark prince to ride in and save me while he was stuck in France...it _hurt_ him."

Leon closed his eyes with a smile of his own, the scenario playing out in his mind. He had always believed that Chris's arrogance had never quite made sense alongside his jealousy towards Carlos. Claire had always described her brother as believing he was God's gift to women in his younger days, and quite frankly, it was obvious that Carlos's advancements were getting him nowhere with Jill.

"I guess what I'm saying is maybe Claire is jealous of all the help Ada has given you over the years," she suggested. "She could never be there for you the way Ada was and if she's anything like her brother, she'll be a little resentful of that. Time is all you can give her."

He nodded, meeting her eyes in a thankful gaze. Perhaps she was right.

"I just don't understand why she is so quick to say that she loves me but so reluctant to make love," he sighed.

"Well," Jill mused, not surprised to hear that their relationship remained quite old-fashioned. But it made sense that Claire had told her. "It can't help that you...well you used to be, um...let's say a 'ladies man'."

"W-What?" he stuttered, incredulous.

"Well, it's true," she laughed. "Look, Chris wasn't exactly a virgin when we met. We...we slept together not long after the incident in the Arklay Forest, and in the aftermath, signals got a little mixed. Long story short, I thought that I was just another meaningless one night stand to him, and that devastated me. Maybe she is afraid that if your relationship turns sexual, you'll grow tired of her."

He knew that this would never be the case, but understood completely. Because when it came to true love, sex became less important. Though it still played an integral part in a healthy relationship, it no longer seemed like the be all and end all. He could wait…but he would not wait forever.

"I can't change my past," he told Jill. "And I can't help that I've never felt this way about anyone. It scares me, Jill. I wish that I could tell her how much she means to me, but...the words just aren't there."

"Words are irrelevant when it comes to letting someone know how you feel. If you can't tell her, then show her!"

Of course, such a plan could unravel. Sometimes, Claire would miss what was right before her eyes and she seemed stubbornly set on convincing herself that he did not care for her the way she wanted him to.

"I turned down an assignment," he admitted. The paperwork had not yet been finalised, but he was prepared to fight it to the end. He needed time off, time to work on what was important to him now. "I know I can be a workaholic but I don't want to lose her."

It occurred to him that these were all sentiments that he should be expressing to Claire. But then came the emotional block, and he found himself struggling to understand what he felt when he put it into simpler terms.

"It will all work out," she reassured him. "We need to fight for the good things in life, but they are worth it in the end."

And he knew that she was right.

* * *

_**July 15, 2009. 5:03pm. Etonfield Clinic. Arlington, VA.**_

The sun beat down a little too harshly for the time of day, but Chris remained oblivious. He paced enough to take his mind off the blistering heat, but he already had enough distractions.

Jill had remained on edge most of the day, and nothing he tried to say or do could calm her nerves. But more than that, she had shunned his company, locking herself in the bathroom to avoid his questions. He could still hear her sobs through the door, could still hear her scream echoing through his mind.

The final straw was the bruises he had witnessed on her left arm, blemishes he had failed to see in the heat of the moment. The angry purple blotches were evidently painful, but she spoke not a word of them, shying away from the subject as though it were taboo.

He couldn't sit around any longer, couldn't watch her fall apart. He had accepted that his role was one of a powerless observer only after the realisation that there was someone who _could_ help.

The door to the clinic opened, drawing his attention. A woman looking to be more or less the same age as he stepped outside, pulling long black hair into a ponytail with a relieved sigh.

"See you tomorrow, Josie," she shouted back through the closing door, a distinctive British accent colouring her words.

'This has to be her.'

"Annalise Keller?" he asked, hoping that he had guessed correctly.

The woman paused for a second, and then smiled in greeting as she readjusted the strap of her purse to offer a hand.

"You must be Chris," she noted, her handshake firm and confident.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," he told her, smiling weakly. He had only succeeded in getting through to her when he found her direct line number in Jill's cell phone; the receptionist offered to leave a message but what he had to say could not go through a third party.

"It's no problem," she smiled in return. "Any opportunity to meet the famous Chris Redfield."

"Famous?"

"Oh, I've heard a lot about you," Dr. Keller laughed as she guided him away from the clinic, into the spacious gardens that framed the building. "Can't say you're quite what I was expecting, but it's a pleasure nonetheless."

He considered returning the sentiment, but knew that they would likely be stuck in a circle of compliments and time would run out. She had only agreed to meet him after office hours, and he found this kind enough without keeping her from her home life. He owed a lot to her; he could not bear to think what state Jill would be in now if it were not for the doctor's warm guidance.

"Dr. Keller-" he began.

"Anna," she requested. "I'm through the doors, and if I want to keep my job I'm talking to you as Anna."

Chris nodded in understanding. The gardens provided good cover from wandering eyes, but he was still concerned about how his actions may affect the good doctor. She had every right to refuse to meet, and by protocol she should have. He liked her before he laid eyes on her; her voice was calm and soothing, and now he could see that her face was friendly and inviting. She was the kind of woman you just wanted to empty your heart to. She was perfectly suited in her profession.

"Then you know that this is about Jill?" he clarified.

Anna nodded as they stopped at a wooden park bench and took a seat.

"Mr. Redfield - Sorry, _Chris_..." she sighed. "I have to point out that I cannot reveal anything that was said during our sessions. I only agreed to meet with you because I am interested in what you have to say. I'm afraid that I cannot offer much to you."

He understood this, and knew from the moment he dialled her number. But he could not just sit around and do nothing.

"I'm worried about her," he admitted. "I'm worried and I don't know what else I can do. This extends beyond post-traumatic stress disorder and depression, and she seems as troubled by this as I am. I'm losing her, and she is losing herself. I just want to know what I can do, or what _you_ can do to help her."

Anna frowned, once again glancing over her shoulder. He could tell simply from her expression that he was not alone in his concern.

"No word of this conversation gets back to anyone, okay?" she asked. "Not even Jill...especially not Jill."

He assured her that he would not breathe a word of it to anyone, appreciative that she was at least cutting him some slack.

"When I first received Jill's file, I almost refused the referral," she admitted. "I had never read anything quite like it. I did not believe that someone could go through so much and emerge intact; I believed that treatment was a futile endeavour. But I could not in good conscience deny her help. She was not what I had expected, not by a long shot. She has a lot of strength, and is always committed to recovery; she is my most promising client. The speed and smooth nature of her recovery thus far is characteristic of a strong support system at home. Your name comes up a lot in our sessions. She has a lot of love for you, Chris; that I am sure of."

Chris was sure of this too, but hearing the words from the mouth of someone else choked him up inside. He had never thought that the simple comfort he offered could have such a profound effect on her. It was second nature to him; an act with no hidden intentions. He would do anything in his power to make her happy. How was this so special? Wasn't it simply what one did for the person they loved?

"But," Anna continued. "Things...changed after the miscarriage. While she was once forthcoming with her emotions, now she appears to be hiding, both from herself and from me. She no longer appears to be suffering from depression at an extent to warrant a separate diagnosis, but the fast recovery time has led me to believe that something else could be masking the symptoms, or even that the depression itself was a symptom rather than a condition in its own right as I originally believed."

Though he had hoped that she understood his position, the news sent his heart plummeting into darkness. To mask symptoms of another disorder, he knew that whatever was afflicting her would need to be severe.

"She's been...delusional," he offered, hoping that it would help. "It started out with her convincing herself that I didn't love her. But lately, she..."

He grimaced against the force of realisation, unable to consider what he had to say.

"She talks about her former captor as though he is still alive," he spoke slowly. He found that it was easier to consider if he did not use the name. "She uses present tense; it's...unsettling. She spends most of the day napping or just staring off into space; it takes a lot of persuasion to get her to do anything these days. The most frightening part of it all is that she seems constantly afraid, constantly on edge. She has suffered from panic attacks, and earlier today something...something freaked her out while we were making love and she was in hysterics. Nothing I say makes a difference anymore. She has convinced herself that I am going to leave her and she won't listen when I insist that I'm not going anywhere. I just want to know what is happening to her...and if there is anything you – or I – can do."

Anna's eyes closed, and her expression showed more fear than Chris knew a psychologist should express. His chest tightened, blood freezing in his veins. Suddenly, everything felt so final. He had not felt this way since he had watched her plummet to her apparent death. Those few short seconds had been agonising enough, but now her fate seemed to be drawn out, played in slow motion so that he did not miss a single second of her demise.

"This is definitely not congruent with post-traumatic stress disorder," she admitted. He could tell that she was trying her best to remain calm, but struggled to maintain her composure. While it pleased him that she cared about her patients enough to elicit genuine concern, he knew that this did not bode well. "All I can do is try to coax her into talking about this herself. Unfortunately, my diagnosis must be based solely on what she reveals in our sessions. I can only request a commitment order if she poses a danger to her own health or to that of others, and even then it will only be for a short evaluation period. I don't believe that hospitalisation is in her best interests either; she evidently draws a lot of strength from your relationship and I am extremely reluctant to request anything that may damage that."

Hospitalisation? He choked on the word. How could he allow her to be committed? Captivity was the reason she was so broken; it would likely only serve to make things worse.

'And if you lock her up, you're no better than him,' he growled inwardly.

"What can I do?" he asked.

"What you've been doing," Anna smiled. "She needs support more than anything. Keep trying to get through to her and I'll do my part. In the meantime, I'll shuffle up my appointments and see if I can transfer your relationship counselling sessions to my roster. It seems that grief is the least of your worries now and I feel that I will be better equipped to help you."

"Okay," he nodded gratefully. "Thank you."

She assured him that he was welcome and chanced one last glance around the gardens.

"You obviously have my direct line number," she coughed as she rose. "If anything arises, give me a call. I promise I will do everything in my power to help, _and_ I'll be humane about it."

She smiled on this last part and patted him on the shoulder.

"Now, I have a husband and a toddler to get back to," she announced. "Take care of yourself."

Chris remained seated as she walked away, taking a long moment to reflect. It seemed cruel that all that he could do for her would only add to the problem. Was this how it was meant to be? Was he to slip into inevitable insanity as he watched her slowly waste away? He had lost her once; he knew he could not take the brutal agony of a repeat.

She was the strongest woman he knew, always with a smile on standby for the sake of morale. He had witnessed her close the eyes of dead teammates whilst barking out orders for their next move. She was more skilled in handling her emotions than he could ever hope to be. _She_ was the calm, cool, stable one. Now she was a nervous wreck, unravelling before his eyes.

'Be hopeful,' he told himself. 'If she can't be strong for herself, you will be strong for her. If she can't understand freedom, you will teach her. No battle is lost until you give up hope.'

He clung to this philosophy. After all, it was all he had.

* * *

_**July 15, 2009. 5:25pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA.**_

"Just give me the key, Rebecca," Claire fumed. "You've come this far."

She could see her expression falter as she tried to rationalise the action. Perhaps she was close to breaking? But Claire did not care; she was taking far too long. Chris could be back at any minute and they had a job to do.

Claire pounced for the younger girl's pocket, lucky on her first attempt.

"Come on!" Rebecca protested. "He gave me that key in good faith, in case Jill took a turn for the worse. He did not give me the key so I can break into his house and-"

"Okay," Claire hissed, pushing on the front door. "For one, we aren't breaking in. I am using a key to open the door to my brother's house, that's all!"

She stepped inside, barely allowing Rebecca enough time to step across the threshold before closing the door behind her. There had been few occasions upon which she found herself in her brother's house, and they were never unaccompanied. It was a far cry from his old apartment; it was much cleaner, for one.

Claire kicked about in the living room, nudging aside the Xbox with her knee as she stooped to investigate the DVDs that had been hastily shoved into the cabinet beneath the television.

"Claire!" Rebecca hissed, startling her. "Stealing alcohol is bad enough; leave it alone!"

"I was just looking," she defended with a defeated expression falling to her features. "I suppose we should start upstairs."

Chris's behaviour the last time they spoke had terrified her into searching for a solution. His booze-soaked end to 2006 lingered in her mind when she considered his drunken behaviour; there was no way in hell she was letting him wander down that dark path again. So, she had concocted a plan to surreptitiously remove all alcohol from his house. It would not stop him drinking but it would sure as hell slow him down.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Rebecca groaned. "Chris is not an alcoholic. People turn to alcohol in troubling times and they are dealing with a lot right now."

"Which is exactly why he can't afford to be in a permanent state of inebriation."

She sensed that Rebecca rolled her eyes as she pushed on the door to the master bedroom.

"I still don't see-" she began, coming to a stop so abruptly that Claire stepped on her heels.

"What the-"

"Shh!" Rebecca urged. And she pointed towards the bed, towards the peacefully sleeping form of Jill. "You said she'd be out!"

"I thought she would be!" Claire defended in a low whisper. "He never goes anywhere without her these days."

Regardless of this little obstacle, Claire tiptoed into the master, pointing to her partner in crime then to the walk-in closet.

'You can't be serious!' Rebecca's eyes screamed. But with a more insistent wave of the arm and a furious bout of pointing, she relented and slid silently into the closet.

Claire watched her exit, walking up to her sleeping friend. Her expression was one of pure serenity - a welcome reprieve from troubled eyes and an isolated stare. Jill's skin had begun to colour once again, now more similar to her own skin tone, though still many shades darker than Chris's; his African tan had shown no signs of fading.

She smiled down at her, deep down hoping and praying that she would not wake.

'What the hell?'

She leaned down slowly, observing a peculiar pattern of bruises on Jill's left arm. Purple skin framed a deep red line, as though her shoulder had slammed into an object of furniture. The thought was halfway out of her mind when she registered another discolouration against her right forearm. The bruises were long and thin, and when she gently turned her arm she recognised a distinctive shape to the wound.

It was a handprint; that was undeniable. It was fairly recent and she could tell from the redness that the grip had been forceful.

"Nothing," Rebecca whispered behind her, freezing when Claire waved a hand.

"What does that look like to you?" she demanded angrily. But before the younger girl had the opportunity to respond, she glided quietly from the room, tugging at her hair with closed fists as she made for the front porch steps.

"What the hell?" she muttered, too shocked to process her own thoughts. "What the hell?"

She knew it was no coincidence that the bruise just happened to be roughly the same size as Chris's hand. His violence towards Leon had surprised her, but she had never expected...

'He loves her!' she reasoned. 'He wouldn't lay a finger on her.'

'Well, evidently he did.'

"Shit."

"Claire?" Rebecca called softly, closing the front door behind her.

She could not look her in the eyes, bottled rage causing her hands to shake uncontrollably. She had always respected Chris, always looked up to him. While she knew that he would never in his right mind hurt any woman, never mind the woman he loved, the evidence was stacked up against him. She had never expected him to attack Leon, or to grow angry at her for no reason. It was the drink talking, but it was using his hands.

"I'm going to kill him," she seethed, her voice shaking too. "And I don't mean chew him out, I mean actually, physically kill him."

"You're jumping to conclusions," Rebecca claimed, setting down beside her. "I know Chris, he would never-"

"But he did!" she snarled. "Aside from her therapist, she hasn't seen anyone else in weeks."

It was strange that her mind forced her to paint him as the villain when she desperately wanted to believe otherwise. Their parents had raised them well, raised them to not tolerate domestic violence. But Jill was vulnerable and the mere thought that someone took advantage of that riled her to almost psychotic fury.

"I know," Rebecca breathed, her speech disjointed and unsteady. "But...we can't...we can't jump to conclusions. We'll talk to her and...and we'll find out what happened. This is _Chris_ we're talking about. He's an ass, but he's good to her."

There was something in the reassuring grip Rebecca had on her shoulder that told her to calm down and to think this through rationally. She was angry, and blind anger was what had brought her to her brother's doorway in the first place.

"Alright," she agreed, though it came with some reluctance.

She knew that now was the time to leave. If Chris were to return home while they were searching, she was quite sure that she would hit him over the head with whatever she happened to be holding at the time; and she could not be sure that she would stop.

**AN - Please review :)**


	7. Feathers

**AN - **There was a lot to include in this chapter, so I apologise if it feels a little rushed. The last section was originally planned to be the first part of the next chapter but I felt ( and now hope ^_^) that it works better here. Chapter title is from a song by Coheed and Cambria.

Thank you again to everyone who has been reading and huge thanks to everyone who reviewed: _Ultimolu, Thaleron, Kenshin13, Ninja-Gnome, Chaed _(x6!), _xSummonerYunax, Ivilith, _and _ 86_. As always, thank you all for your continued support!

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Six_**_ - Feathers_

_'History's made its mark in anger._  
_As everybody knows, it's what we do.  
It's nothing new.'_

**_July 24, 2009. 3:15pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

The nap was unintended this time, the result of a migraine and little else. But Jill woke from it feeling groggy and uneasy, warm from the sheets that covered her legs. And then there was the dampness, the sticky-

'What?'

She pushed up against the mattress, the sheets clinging to her legs. Tentatively, she peeled them back, cramp settling in her abdomen.

The scream that was torn from her went unheard; she was alone, did not even know where Chris was today.

The sheets were saturated with blood, her thighs coated, shorts dyed a horrific shade of crimson.

'It's not real,' her mind whispered. 'It's not real.'

But it sure as hell felt real, and she jumped from the bed, rushing to the sink in the ensuite. But the blood would not wash from her hands, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

"Out, damned spot! Out, I say!" Wesker laughed. She reached for the tumbler by the sink, glass smashing against the wall as he remained unperturbed.

"Go away!" she screamed, washing the lather from her hands only to find that the skin beneath remained red.

"Do you remember how it happened?" he pressed. "I do."

"Shut_ up_!"

"You were in the kitchen," he continued. "You were experiencing cramps, and thought a glass of water would help. But you felt it...that drop of blood, sliding down your thigh."

The soap slipped through her fingers and into the sink, every muscle in her chest seizing up. Memories accompanied his words, and she was sure that she could feel the echoes of that pain.

"You ran for the bathroom and you saw the blood. You panicked, but by then you couldn't even walk, couldn't reach for the phone..."

"Stop," she begged, blinded by tears. "_Please!_"

She couldn't breathe through her grief, but this only spurred him on, bringing him to whisper in her ear.

"Do you remember his expression when he found you? Do you remember how terrified he was? How _hurt_-"

Jill pushed away from the sink, running through to the bedroom only to find that the sheets were clean. She held her hands before her eyes, the skin pink from the pressure she had applied but unblemished, as were her thighs.

'What the hell is happening to me?'

'You _need_ to tell Chris!'

'He'll leave. He'll think I'm crazy.'

'You _are_ crazy, but this is the twenty-first century! Crazy can be cured!'

"Why must you always run from me?" Wesker chuckled behind her, gloved hands sliding over her hips.

She pulled away again, turning on him to see that sadistic smirk firmly in place. He was the puppeteer, continuously plucking strings he knew would make her dance. Even after all this time, she was still a slave to his influence. She had escaped him but his venom lingered, and she had no strength within her to fight the poison. Just how much longer would she be forced to endure?

"What happened to you, Valentine?" he asked with a heavy sigh. "You were one of my most promising soldiers. Always so strong, yet look at where you have fallen. Surely this bed of thorns is the bottom of the abyss? There is no way out...not alive, anyway. You know it makes sense. After all, I have never lied to you."

And Jill trembled with the realisation that this was true. He had never found the need to lie to her; he twisted her existence so that the truth was always deadly enough.

"You killed our baby," she snarled tearfully. "It was your damn chemical. Was what you did to me not enough?"

"Don't ask stupid questions," he told her. "Nothing will _ever_ be enough. Surely you realise that now?"

'I do,' she admitted to herself, and cowered from the fear that overcame her. And she ran, desperate for fresh air, wherever she may find it.

She had never felt the breeze upon her skin in Africa, had never felt the sun upon her face. Now, these simple pleasures reminded her that she was home, despite what she felt. But Wesker was hot on her heels, appearing beside her no matter which way she turned.

"Leave me be!" she screamed, and thrashed her arms out in his general direction. But he was too fast, as he had always been. Yet another reminder that resistance on any level was hopelessly futile.

She gripped the balustrade at the top of the stairs, inhaling deeply as her vision swam. All this stress could not be good for her; was she to add high blood pressure to her list of troubles?

"I know that you fantasize about me," he teased, lips once again at her ear. She could feel his breath this time, could feel the coldness in his words. "Is Chris not enough for you? Is he so pathetic that you are required to imagine it is me instead?"

The moment had haunted her ever since she had pushed her lover away, shaken by the image. She had made love to him since, but would never allow him to be in control, fearing a repeat. Anger rose as she considered it this time and she screamed in rage, releasing the balustrade to push against him.

But she was too close to the edge. One foot one inch too far back and her balance was gone. She reached out for the wood she had previously gripped, but it was too late. She felt every single step on the way down, screaming despite herself.

Her body twisted painfully as she desperately clawed for support. But her struggle came to an end as her head slammed against the final step. And darkness fell, the echoes of laughter ringing in her ears.

* * *

**_July 24, 2009. 3:25pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Chris slid the grocery bag beneath his arm as he fumbled with the keys. Yet another lunch with friends had turned into a hasty trip to the store, fuelled by the realisation that he had missed yet another handful of items with the weekly shopping. He was no good at this domestic stuff, but if he did not shop, who would? Jill would shop for clothes and books online, but when it came to groceries she would simply stare at the screen for hours, oblivious to what they needed. In the end, Chris took over shopping duties, with her as his silent companion. But he always forgot something and she would never remember.

"Jill, I'm back!" he called when he opened the front door. He knew that there was little point in calling out; she would be asleep, as always.

But then he looked up. And she was there, silent and unmoving at the foot of the stairs.

The bag slipped from his hold, its contests spilling across the carpet. He was at her side before the last item had hit the floor, frantically feeling for a pulse. There was no blood, but he knew that there did not need to be. Their staircase was long, and if she had fallen from the top...

He could barely breathe against the pressure of his heard pounding in his throat, remaining calm only through the knowledge that acting on initial panic would do nothing. But inside he was shaking, fear crushing in on all sides.

"Jill, can you hear me?" he begged when he detected a strong pulse, leaning to feel her breath against his cheek.

'You have to get her to a hospital.'

'Move her? Are you _insane_? She fell; she could have a spinal injury!'

He touched the cell phone in his pocket, pulling it into view and frantically dialling.

"I need an ambulance," he spluttered into the mouthpiece. "Twenty-four Sycamore Avenue. It's...it's my fiancée. I think...I think she fell down the stairs. She's breathing but unconscious; I don't know how long she has been like this."

He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers as the operator fired off the usual series of questions and directions.

"Thirty-four," he asked, in response to a request for her age. "No, no...She was alone. Yes. Yes. I know - don't move her."

With a reassuring "hold on, the ambulance is on its way", he ended the call, blood now frozen in his veins.

"Please wake up," he begged her, touching his lips to her forehead. But her eyes remained closed, lips parted as she inhaled every soft breath.

'She could have been here hours,' he realised. 'She's unconscious; at the very least she will have a concussion, and that's an automatic overnight stay.'

The wait for help was agonisingly long, and she remained unresponsive in each drawn-out minute. By the time the knock finally came, he found that his legs no longer had the will to carry him. But he made it to the door, stepping aside as the paramedics rushed in.

"How long has she been unconscious?" asked the man who remained with him, holding a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. He took in the basic scene, jotting notes even as he fired off questions.

"I...I don't know," Chris sighed, fingers in his hair in the usual nervous habit. "I've been out for the last few hours - I came back and she was...there."

"Okay. Is there anything we should be aware of at this point - pregnancy, any allergies?"

"No on both accounts. But she is taking anti-anxiety medication; I'm not sure what kind."

"That's okay. Is this her place of permanent residence? What relation are you?"

Chris frowned, his attention stolen by the two paramedics that attended to her, one rushing back through the door with a spinal board.

"Yes," he answered hastily. "We're engaged, going on...four months now. Is she going to be okay?"

The paramedic looked up, first to Chris then to his colleagues. His expression was unreadable, offering no solace at all.

"We won't know until we get her back to the hospital and take some x-rays," he pointed out. "The spinal board is simply a precaution. We are reluctant to assess patients in the field when there is the possibility of traumatic brain injury. The fact that she has not regained consciousness sets off alarm bells for us, so the best thing we can do for her now is get her to a hospital as soon as possible.

The paramedic did not look him in the eye as he waved to his colleagues and then motioned for him to follow. It was only as an afterthought he remembered to lock up on the way out, and then he followed the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

Her limp hand was cold and clammy as he held it, willing her fingers to move just a little. But she remained unresponsive as he lifted her hand to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles before holding the back of her hand to his cheek, hoping that she would feel the warmth of his skin. When there was no movement he sighed and placed her hand back against her stomach, afraid that he may exacerbate any injuries.

The journey to the hospital was agonisingly slow, exacerbated the immediate rush of her stretcher through to the emergency department upon arrival, one of the paramedics holding out an arm to stop him following.

"They will be taking her straight for a scan," he was told. "You won't be allowed in with her during the X-ray procedure. Just wait here and fill out the paperwork; someone will be out to let you know what is happening as soon as we know ourselves."

And before he knew it, a pen and clipboard were thrust into his hands. But his eyes were drawn to the one paramedic he had not yet spoken to, and to the doctor he conversed with. Both sets of eyes met his briefly, an expression of vehement intolerance falling to the doctor's features.

Chris sank into a vacant chair, staring down at the forms in his hand. Words swam on the paper, foreign syllables that he knew he should recognise. Everything had happened so fast that his mind had not been given the opportunity to adjust to it all. He pressed pen to paper, scrawling Jill's name in the appropriate boxes, then her date of birth, social security number, and insurance details. But he could not see the words that he wrote, mind consumed by the image of her unconscious form strapped to the spinal board, wheeled through the doors of the ER at a speed that could only be described as frantic.

No answers came from the nurse who came to collect the forms, or from the reception staff who soon grew tired of his questions. An hour passed, and there was still no sign of Jill or any of her attending doctors. Impatience had become obsolete, anger now boiling within him.

"Mr. Redfield?" called a voice to his side. He sat up straight in anticipation, frowning when he saw that it was not a doctor who spoke.

"Officer Henderson," the man introduced himself as. "Arlington Police. Can I ask you to come with me, please?"

Chris blinked up at the officer, stunned though he tried not to let it show. Why were the police here? Why were they looking for him?

"I...I don't understand," he stammered.

"Just follow me, sir," the officer requested, making no secret of pre-existing annoyance.

And so Chris followed, knowing that he did not have much choice in the matter. He glanced over his shoulder every few steps, afraid that he would miss a staff member that bore information of Jill's condition.

But it soon became evident that nobody was coming.

Officer Henderson led him to a small 'family room' in the main body of the hospital; a room furnished only by two facing sofas with a coffee table in-between. The usual healthcare magazines were scattered on the table, the TV suspended upon an overhead bracket sleeping.

"I would like to ask you a few questions pertaining to Miss Valentine's injuries," the officer began. Chris could tell that he had little patience, seemingly bearing a grudge against him before he had said a word.

"What do you mean?"

The officer's grey eyebrow rose, an expression of disbelief in his eyes.

"Well, let's begin with a recall of the events leading to you...finding her."

Chris did not like what his tone implied but shook away his thoughts. They would do him no good.

"I was having lunch with some friends," he began. "We were going to go somewhere - bowling, perhaps - but then I remembered that I needed to pick some stuff up at the grocery store. So, I left, I shopped, and when I came home..."

The image flashed before his eyes, and his throat ran dry. He could see her, sprawled against the carpet, unmoving. He felt the surge of helplessness, of guilt for leaving her alone.

"She was lying at the foot of the stairs?" the officer asked sarcastically.

Chris could no longer hide from the obvious. He knew why he had been hauled aside, though his mind was in such a state of shock that it refused to accept the truth.

"What is this about?" he demanded, wanting to hear the words from the officer's mouth.

"The paramedics detected bruising on various parts of her body," the officer explained, casting all civility aside. "Grazes, even carpet burn on her elbow that was not a result of her fall. Can you explain this?"

Chris huffed in disbelief, leaning back on the sofa as his eyes fell to the magazines. He had noticed several new bruises on Jill's legs but had said nothing of them. Bruises were not cause for concern and he knew how clumsy she was these days. But he knew what the officer was accusing him of and there was not a single breath of warmth left in his body. He would never raise a finger to her, and he knew that she would not tolerate it if he did; she was more than capable of holding her own.

"Just as I thought," Officer Henderson sneered.

"I know what you are insinuating," Chris growled. "But I am _not_ responsible for what happened to her. I used to be a cop; I have locked up dozens of scumbags who beat on their girlfriends. I would never raise a hand to any woman, let alone the one I love!"

"You're a big guy, Chris," the officer pointed out, calm this time. "Big hands. I'd even go so far as to say they are the exact size of a fading bruise found on her right forearm. Am I wrong?"

And he had cornered him. Chris knew that he had inflicted that bruise, but the circumstances would not matter to the officer. He resented the fact that his size was used against him. Sure, he was often teased by his friends for the sheer volume of muscle he had gained, but he had never been fitter in his life and he was proud of the results of his hard labour. After all, strength and endurance were crucial in his line of work. But he would never use his strength for a less honourable reason. _Never_.

"No," he admitted, hoping that honesty would work in his favour. "She fell; I tried to stop her from injuring herself."

"That's a little convenient, don't you think?"

He did not know what to say; what _could_ he say? The officer was scrutinising every small movement that he made, over-analysing every word for just one excuse to haul him downtown. All that kept Chris within the frame of reason was the shock that refused to lift. He knew that he was often a little rough with others, that he had an attitude many did not like and a temper that ensured the other party would always back down. But he was different around Jill; though it had taken him many years to realise this he knew that it was true. She could always hold her own against him, but he knew never to let it get that far. The lengths to which he would go for her knew no bounds, yet here he was, reeling from accusations of domestic violence.

"Does it make you feel big?" Officer Henderson asked. Professionalism had left his demeanour but Chris knew that calling him on this was perhaps the worst possible thing he could do. "Post-traumatic stress disorder, depression...is she not helpless enough? Do you-"

"I did not touch her!" he yelled as anger peaked. "I don't know how she got those other bruises, and I don't know how she fell down the stairs! I want to speak to a doctor! I...I need to know that she's okay."

His voice faltered at the admission and he fell back against hard cushions, willing away tears that threatened to betray his confidence. All he wanted was to see her, to let her know that he was there for her. But he was being denied even this, his honour threatened by some overzealous cop hell-bent on proving his supposed guilt.

It felt strange, for once, to be on the other side of the interrogation, and he did not like it one bit.

* * *

**_July 24, 2009. 3:40pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Rebecca jumped when the knock sounded upon her office door. But she could be forgiven; she was not _used_ to having an office of her own. After weeks and weeks of deliberating, the board had finally handed her the promotion she had set her heart on.

'Not bad for a kid,' she congratulated herself yet again, grinning from ear to ear.

"Come in," she greeted, though Connolly was already halfway through the door, waving a manila folder for her to see.

"Sorry it took me so long," he apologised, and she knew what it was that he brandished.

"You found him!"

Her gasp was met by a grim expression, and she mirrored it almost to the muscle. The one thing about Matthew Connolly she could always be sure about was his unwavering optimism. She did not think that she had ever seen him frown.

"Is this him?" he asked, pulling a small photograph from the file.

She plucked it from his fingers, reluctant to glance down. But she inhaled deeply, and looked...

...straight into the eyes of Billy Coen.

He was older than she remembered, though she could tell that he was healthy, holding up well for his age. That dark brown hair remained long and free of greys, the warmth she knew he possessed hidden behind shielded blue eyes. Rebecca found that she liked the way he wore maturity; as though it were the height of fashion.

"This is him," she acknowledged with a nod and a smile. "This is Billy."

"Billy Coen was given a full presidential pardon six years ago," Connolly explained. "Turns out the commanding officer who framed him confessed on his death bed. The other surviving members of his unit corroborated the story and his name was cleared."

Rebecca reached for the newspaper cutting he had exposed, not quite believing his words. But it was there in black and white, accompanied by a photograph of a much younger Billy in full uniform.

'Six years ago? Why didn't he contact me?'

"He began working for a construction company soon after," Connolly continued before she could speak. "According to his co-workers it was just a job to earn him a little money until he sorted his life out. But, he enjoyed the work so much that he stayed for three years."

He handed her a record of Billy's employment, including several photographs of the man in question with his co-workers.

'Six years and he never even tried?'

Her heart did not sink, it plummeted. And suddenly she felt so foolish. They had barely spent one night in each other's company, had done nothing but fire upon the undead; why did she so much as entertain the idea that he still thought about her? She was nothing but a memory to him. Believing that he had not contacted her out of fear of blowing his cover was one thing, but she had been so sure that he would seek her out when his name was cleared, if only to reclaim his dog tags.

"Where is he now?" she asked as she shielded her face from her friend. Because she would contact him; she would make a move where he never had.

Connolly drew a deep breath and picked the final article from the folder, holding it close to him for now.

"Three years ago there was a fire in Billy's apartment block," he grimaced. "Eight people died, and at the time only four of the bodies could be identified. The apartments within the block were on short-term leases so it was difficult for the police to ascertain who was in the block at the time - who was missing."

A heavy block formed in her throat, and though she tried to swallow its weight, it choked her.

"Two bodies have still not been identified...and all traces of Billy Coen end that day. I'm sorry, Rebecca."

She was emotionless as she fell to the chair at her desk, breath escaping her.

'But...he _can't_ be,' she reasoned. To survive all that he had and finally succumb to death in a fire, of all things...it just did not seem right.

She could not cry, could not even articulate emotion. She barely knew him, yet his death hit her with the same dreadful feeling Jill's had.

Connolly knelt before her and took her hands into his, simply holding them on her lap.

"Were you close?" he asked quietly, inviting her to open up,

Rebecca laughed humourlessly, expression stubbornly set.

"No," she sighed. "But I never forgot him. I guess...I guess I had always hoped he'd never forgotten me either. Now I'll never know."

She found it morbidly ironic that the one man she had made an effort to remember was the one man who had never chased her, had never actively shown an interest in her yet still managed to sneak his way into her heart. And she had not realised this until now...until it was too late.

'Don't say you have fallen for him,' her sense scolded her. 'A few hours were all you were meant to have together.'

But those few hours had changed everything. They had not met under normal circumstances, and somehow that made all the difference.

"Do you want to cry?"

"No," she grimaced. It was the first lie she had ever told him. "I'll be okay. Thank you for letting me know. At least...at least he found freedom before he died. That's all I wanted to hear."

And it was. He had never admitted his innocence, but she could see in his eyes that he was no murderer. It frightened her that he preferred to hide behind this image than to reveal his true self to her. She had always hoped there would be a day when he would, had always assumed that he would seek her out when his name was cleared. Because she always had faith that it would happen one day.

She only wished that she could have celebrated with him.

* * *

**_July 24, 2009. 3:45pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

At first, she thought it was the pain that had woken her; she could not remember the last time she had experienced a headache so intense. But more than that, her arms ached terribly, as though her skin was one giant bruise.

Jill blinked against the light, groaning audibly to find that the annoyance soon dulled.

"Glad to see you back with us," an unfamiliar voice spoke cheerfully at her bedside.

It was then that she realised she was not in her own bed, was not even in her own home. The woman at her side was obviously a nurse; she could tell by the uniform. The bed bore more similarities to a cot, walls frighteningly clinical despite attempts at homely decoration.

She was in hospital.

"What-?" she gasped. Her memory was selective at best and she could not for the life of her remember how she got there. "What happened?"

"We are still trying to figure that out," the nurse told her, miles away as she scrawled on a chart. Jill decided that her constant smile and chirpy voice bordered on irritating.

"Figure it out?" she groaned, wincing as pain once again flared, this time in her ribs. "Am I in a _real_ hospital?"

The nurse's eyebrows rose and she clicked her pen, sliding it into her pocket as she finally met Jill's eye.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Jill considered this, resting back into plump pillows as memories began to trickle back. She was napping, there was blood... A hallucination, perhaps?

"Like I've gone three cycles in a spin dryer," she sighed, but knew that the nurse wanted specific symptoms. "Pain, everywhere. Blinding headache, and I guess a little dizzy too."

The nurse hummed in interest and pulled a small light from the pocket the pen had disappeared into. Jill swore vehemently when she pulled back an eyelid, shining the light directly into each eye.

"Did you not hear me?" she fumed, suddenly energetic but limited in movement by a head that seemed too heavy to lift from the pillows. "Headache. Light hurts."

"Well, your pupils are responsive, which is a good sign," the nurse noted. "You seem a little irritable too; definitely just a concussion."

"You'd be irritable too if you had a migraine and someone shone a fucking light in your eyes," she growled, immediately regretting it when pain seared through her head once again. But this time, memories accompanied the wave; Wesker, the balustrade...steps.

The nurse continued to smile, apparently unperturbed by her supposed 'irritability'.

"Try to get some rest," she urged before signalling to a glass of water and a small plastic cup on the table next to her. "Take these for the pain and try not to move about so much. Nothing is broken but you were knocked around pretty badly so you'll be a little tender for a while."

Without offering further answers, she began to walk quickly towards the door, peering out at someone in the hallway.

"She's awake," she spoke to some unseen figure. "Five minutes; she needs to rest."

"Stairs," she muttered, hoping that it would attract some answers. "I remember now...I fell down the stairs."

The nurse frowned as she turned back and sighed heavily.

"There is someone here who would like a few words with you," she informed her. "Please be honest. We _can_ help you; you're not alone."

Her words stunned Jill, who could not place meaning to what seemed to be a genuine sentiment. And fear wound its way into her heart, almost bringing it to a standstill. Only two possibilities came to mind; they knew of Wesker, or her injuries were more serious than they were presenting.

It made sense to her that Chris had been the one to find her, and suddenly her heart, mind and soul all longed for his company. She knew that he must be scared out of his mind.

But it was a woman who stepped into the room, not the man she had hoped for. Not only this; it was evident from her uniform that she was a police officer.

"Hello Jill," she greeted with a warm smile. Neither her voice nor her features irritated her as the nurse's had. In many ways, her attitude was genuine and brought back memories of her own work for law enforcement. "I am Officer Farrell, but you can call me Jane."

Jill watched Jane suspiciously as she claimed the chair next to her bed, hands clasped firmly on her knees as opposed to the expected action of reaching for a notepad and pen.

"Why are you here?" Jill wanted to know. "I used to be a cop; this doesn't make any sense."

"It's okay," Jane smiled, not a hint of fakery in her expression. "You're not in any kind of trouble. I just need to ask a few questions about your injuries."

Strangely enough, this admission frightened Jill more than the prospect of arrest or committal. She did not like what it implied; she had started many a questioning herself in the same way and it was always for the same scenario.

"I fell down the stairs," she explained, slowly so that the officer would understand. But she knew the futility of it; stairs were always the excuse of choice.

She remained in denial, convincing herself that her suspicions were wrong. But Officer Farrell flashed that sympathetic smile, and she knew what was coming next.

"You don't have to lie to me, Jill," the officer assured her. "You may be scared that Chris will-"

"That he will what?" she demanded, voice wispy and barely a semitone from a screech. "I fell down the stairs! That's the truth! Isn't he the one who brought me here?"

Again, a sigh that hinted at disbelief.

"He called for an ambulance," Jane explained. "When the paramedics arrived they found you at the foot of the stairs, yes. But there are other injuries that pre-date those you sustained today. Such as that bruise on your arm; how did that happen?"

Jill looked suddenly to her right arm, touching the bruise with the fingers of her left. The mark was an imprint of Chris's hand, but not the result of violence. However, she knew that the officer would not believe her.

"I fell off our bed," she breathed slowly, recalling the moment. "He grabbed my arm to try to hold me up but I fell anyway. Maybe he did hold a little too hard; he doesn't know his own strength sometimes, but he _never_ uses it against me."

The officer said nothing. Their eyes met and Jill understood that she recognised just how serious her words were.

"Chris treats me better than anyone ever has," she admitted as she choked back tears. "I was kidnapped a few years ago and he travelled to Africa, later disobeying orders because of the smallest possibility that I was still alive. And when I returned and was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, he took a year off work - a job he _loves_ - to help with my recovery. And when...when I lost our baby, he stayed up all night when I got back from the hospital and just held me. I knew he was hurting too, but..."

The memory came back and so too did her tears. He always put her first and somehow she had come to take that for granted. She had never thanked him for all he had done for her, and though he had never sought thanks, she knew that it was due. Any other man would have walked away long ago and she knew that she would not have made it so far without his support.

"Please," she begged. "Let me see him."

And anger had turned to sadness. She knew that their accusations had no merit, and if they took Chris to court their claims would fall through without her support. But she knew that the process would devastate him. It pained her to think of what he must be going through right now.

"I'm afraid we can't allow that," Jane told her, almost apologetically. "Hospital policy. Besides, you could do with a little rest."

Jill blinked, too exhausted to argue. Why would they not just let her see her fiancé?

"But you do believe me, right?"

Jane smiled wryly, evidently not knowing what to believe.

* * *

**_July 24, 2009. 6:08pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Rebecca did not remain behind to catch up on her reading, nor did she offer to help with colleagues' research as she always did. The news of Billy's death still haunted her, and though tears had not yet fallen she knew that they were not far behind the dull ache in the pit of her stomach.

Even after all she had been through, losing a friend still devastated her to the core.

She had taken a shortcut through the maternity ward when she glimpsed a familiar figure through the windows. The face was obscured, his body hunched over, head between his knees on a bench in the courtyard.

She was quiet as she approached, doubting his identity until the last step.

"Chris?"

He looked up, eyes bloodshot, hair carelessly tousled. Her intention had been to offer a quick greeting and be on her way, but now she knew that she could not leave it at that, no matter how upset she was.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked as she sat beside him. "What happened?"

Instinctively, she glanced back towards the maternity ward. Obviously, it was not the only department that overlooked the courtyard but, given Jill's miscarriage, it was where her thoughts strayed. Had she fallen pregnant again only to face a repeat? Or had they been told that she never would?

"It's Jill," Chris sighed, the corners of his lips twitching downward. "She fell down the stairs, and they...they won't let me see her."

Rebecca raised a hand to grip his shoulder, swallowing her concern.

"Why not? Is she okay?"

Chris shrugged, closing his eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair. He was distraught, though he tried to hide it, quaking beneath the façade.

"She has a concussion," he explained. "They want to keep her in overnight, just to be safe. But she has bruises all over her body and they think...they think _I'm_ responsible."

Snippets of past conversations with Claire drifted back and she swallowed sheepishly. Though she considered asking if he _was_ responsible, she could tell that it was not true; the mere suggestion seemed to disturb him greatly.

"They sent her for more scans," he continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They said that by the time they are done, visiting hours will be over. I can't see her."

"Hey," Rebecca soothed. "It's standard procedure to keep a patient in overnight if they have suffered a head injury. She will likely be out tomorrow morning; it's just for one night."

Chris turned to look at her, and she regretted her assurance. There seemed to be more to the issue than she was aware of; perhaps her words had been out of line?

"She's not well, Rebecca," he sighed. She could tell that it was the first time he had spoken these words aloud, but the thought had existed for quite some time. "When I realised what had happened to her in Africa - after she forced me to walk away - I knew that she wouldn't just walk out of there and everything would be okay. But she was making good progress...and then suddenly everything changed. She has these...delusions, and I've...I've heard her talking to herself sometimes. She is terrified of something but she won't let me in. I'm scared that she is inflicting these bruises upon herself; how long until she goes too far?"

And suddenly, her despair evaporated, and fear settled into its place. The symptoms were familiar to her, but she dared not speak the name of the sickness. Chris needed reassurance, not more heartache. And so she wrapped both of her arms around him, not caring that he did not return the favour.

Staying away had always been enough for her, and for the others. Jill needed space; it was always the same excuse. But what price did their ignorance demand? They had not known the extent of her troubles, or the weight of the burden that Chris bore. Grief was difficult enough to manage without working through the emotions of another.

"Chris…I know about the miscarriage," she revealed, knowing that he had not shared this with another soul. "And I am so sorry. You should have told us about all this. We can help."

He pulled away from her, meeting her eyes in surprise. But then he smiled, a brief flicker of relief visible in his expression.

"She told you," he muttered with a breathy laugh. "She wouldn't even talk to me about it. I'm glad she spoke to someone. I...I thought she would never recover from it."

Rebecca smiled and bumped his shoulder with hers.

"She loves you," she emphasised. "It was your child also; how could she relive that with you? The old Jill is still in there somewhere. She just needs a little help clawing her way out."

She reached for his hand as he flinched against the impact of her words. Somehow, the reminder of Jill's feelings had hit like an axe wound; forceful, and in the wrong way.

"That's what makes this so difficult," he grimaced. "She trusts me, but...I don't know how much longer I can do this. She needs help, and I don't know if she is simply refusing to open up or if she truly doesn't know what is going on. I'm going to give her one last chance to talk to me and if she doesn't...I'm going to Dr. Keller and...and...we'll have her committed."

He seemed ashamed to speak these words, spitting them out as though they were poison. Rebecca knew that it had taken a lot to bring him to this position, but sympathised with him. At the very least, Jill could be committed for assessment; in the long run, it could help her.

"Annalise Keller?" she asked, remembering the name Chris had spoken. "She is Jill's therapist?"

He nodded slowly, still reeling from the impact of his decision. But Rebecca smiled and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"I met her at a medical conference a few years back," she told him. "She is amazing at what she does; Jill couldn't be in better hands."

Chris seemed to agree but did not address the subject directly. Instantly, she knew that he had spoken to Dr. Keller behind Jill's back, and it was quite possibly this conversation that had led to his plan of action.

"She'll hate me," he sighed. "If I lock her up like...like he did."

"Oh, Chris!" she protested. "This is different. You're trying to help her-"

"Do you really think that will matter?" he spat, the gaze he held hers with intense beyond measure. "She trusts me. This would be betrayal in her eyes. It was captivity that brought her to this place, but I don't know what else I can do! More than that...I don't care if she hates me, I don't care if she walks out on me and I never see her again. I don't care what she thinks of me, as long as...as long as she's okay."

The sentiment was pure in Rebecca's eyes, but she knew that it would not appear this way to him. Beyond her worry, she wondered why he remained at the hospital. Was it hope? She knew that they would not allow anyone in past visiting hours, especially not a man they believed to be responsible for her injuries. Remaining here would do him no good and she knew that they could both use each other's company.

"Come on," she urged, knowing that he would have rode to the hospital in the back of the ambulance. "I'll drive you home and...I'll cook something. I can tell you won't eat otherwise."

* * *

**_July 24, 2009. 7:25pm. Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Claire was riled up, and all the talking in the world could not calm her down. Leon knew that talking to her was a bad idea, that demanding reason was even worse. He did not know why she had been so desperate to speak to Chris after a week of avoiding him, but the conversation had turned sour when it was Rebecca who answered the phone.

_"She's _where_? What did he do, Becky?"_

He had only offered to drive her to her brother's abode out of fear that she would crash in her rage if she drove herself. Now, he chased her down the driveway, his hands carelessly thrown aside every time reached for her.

"Don't you understand?" she fumed, turning when his efforts began to grate.

"I do," he assured her. "But Claire, be rational. He is not abusing her. Just stop for a minute and think about what you are accusing him of!"

Crying out in frustration, she turned back and stormed up to the front door, hammering on it with both fists. And when the door opened, it was one of these fists that collided with Chris's jaw, sending him stumbling back into the house.

"You _bastard_!" she screamed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Leon reached for her but she lashed out, slamming her fist against his arm. Chris remained almost perfectly still, an expression of shock overcoming him as he held a hand to his jaw.

"Is that how you treat the people you love? By putting them in the fucking hospital?"

As realisation dawned on the older man, Leon felt his heart sink. Her words were bullets to her brother, yet he made no move to defend himself. The hurt in his eyes was enough to reveal his innocence, but Claire remained blinded by fury and stepped forward to push him back.

"Mom raised you better than this!" she seethed through tears she stubbornly ignored.

"Claire, wait!" Rebecca emerged from the kitchen, and all eyes were drawn to her. They had never expected Chris to have company. "Just calm down-"

"You're _defending_ him?" she screeched. Rebecca opened her mouth to reply but Claire cried out, tuning her out of existence as she rounded on her brother again.

But Leon saw her arm rise, and he was quick enough to rush forward and grab it, strong enough to pull her away from him despite her protests, both vocal and physical. All the while, Chris remained suspended in stunned silence, distressed though he did not allow it to show.

"She deserves better than this!" she screamed. "Lose my number, Chris. Don't call until you've sorted yourself out!"

Leon pulled her back before she could rain further abuse down on him, pulling her out onto the porch as Rebecca slammed the front door behind them.

"Put me down!" she protested, but he refused, dragging her out towards the car. "Leon!"

"Stop it!" he demanded, finally stopping halfway up the drive. "Do you have any idea what you are doing? You take everything at face value, Claire. Just _think_ for once! Think about the state he was in when she disappeared. He loves her so much he put his life on the line to bring her back. Does that sound like the kind of man who would beat the woman he loves?"

She dropped her head, pulling her wrists from his grip but ceasing her struggle.

"You have known him all your life," he pointed out. "You know him better than anyone. Would he really do something like that?"

"Then what happened?" she demanded, weak and exasperated. "He wouldn't let her hurt herself either. This doesn't add up!"

Her lips parted, breaths drawn through gritted teeth. He could almost see the process of calm befalling her, but knew that it would never be enough. And his heart bled for her, cursing the state she had forced herself into. Not quite knowing how to act, he pulled her into his body, wrapping his arms tightly around hers.

"Please," he whispered. "Calm down; I hate seeing you like this."

As his hands rubbed her back soothingly, he felt tears soak through his T-shirt, and her arms returned his embrace. He could not combat the fear that he felt as she trembled in his arms, gathering the material of his T-shirt in closed fists. So he held her tighter, burying his nose in her hair, kissing where he could.

She smelled of peaches and summer, warmer than anyone had ever felt in his arms. And every sob shot through him as though the emotions were his own, as though it were his own confusion, tearing him apart inside.

'I love you,' he whispered inside his mind, cursing the only sense of cowardice he had ever faced. 'And I wish you knew.'

* * *

**_July 25, 2009. 9:42am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Jill stepped out of the cab, slinging the small bag Rebecca had brought her that morning over the shoulder that did not ache quite so much.

"Thank you," she muttered to the driver as she handed over her fare, catching sight of a light bruise beneath the wrist of her cardigan.

'At least there aren't many,' she reminded herself when she cringed at the sight. Her wrists had received the brunt of the force, used subconsciously to protect herself as she fell. The doctors had assured her that nothing had been broken, that her concussion was luckily not severe and her bruising superficial.

As the cab pulled away, she turned towards the house. There were no signs of life from outside, and the day's paper lay untouched on their lawn.

Her fingers trembled as they turned the key in the lock, though she could hear not a sound on the other side of the door. And as she stepped inside, she could tell that he had not yet been downstairs that morning.

But just then, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

He caught her eye, freezing when he recognised her. A hand froze in damp hair, and then he moved, slowly descending the staircase.

It was she who rushed to him, but his hold was more desperate. It aggravated existing aches but she did not complain. When she relaxed her grip, he did not, and she could sense that his eyes were closed, that he derived more from the embrace than the physical.

"Hey," she spoke gently, snapping him from his reverie. "Are you okay?"

When he pulled back, his eyes told her that he was not, that there were a million words he wished to throw her way but did not from fear of the repercussions.

And her mind drifted back to the decision she had made as she packed her small bag barely half an hour ago. The fall had haunted her dreams, Wesker's laugh lingering. He had not visited her during the night, for which she was thankful, but she knew he would soon return. If his love of torment did not, her actions would.

"This has gone too far," she breathed, terrified to admit this.

Chris nodded in understanding.

Accepting everything that had materialised in recent weeks had always come easily to her; it was_ her_ problem, _her_ pain. She had never wanted it to affect Chris, but the blow it had dealt was too much for her to reason with. They were both lucky that no charges were pressed, that the police lost interest after her continued insistence that he had nothing to do with her injuries. But she would never forget what they had believed, could not forgive herself for the ordeal she had put him through.

"Can we talk?" she asked. With another nod, he led her over to the sofa, not once letting go of her hand. But as she sat with him, she felt familiar hesitance. Was she truly going through with this? What if it was too much? What if he walked away?

"I...I never thanked you," she told him, absent-mindedly playing with the hand she held. "For everything you've done for me. You were wrong when you said you're nothing special, because you are. I never thought _I_ would be the pain in the ass in this relationship, but I am and I have been since the day we started dating. You're more of a man than I ever thought you could be when we first met, and I know I would not have made it this far without you. I am lucky to have you, and more grateful than you could ever know."

He squeezed her hand tightly; a non-verbal admittance that 'it was nothing'. But she knew that it was something, and would not let him believe otherwise.

"I'm worried about you," he sighed. "And so are the others."

Jill froze, feeling the warmth of his hand on hers but not much else.

"I need help," she breathed, the words coming as a release, but with fear trailing behind. It was a truth she had been reluctant to accept. "I don't know what is happening to me."

"Then talk," he begged. He took both of her hands into his now, eager it seemed to hear more. Strange though it seemed to her, his eagerness inspired confidence within.

"Don't tell him," Wesker ordered, barely two feet behind him. His expression was determined, voice devoid of the usual bliss that accompanied tormenting words.

She swallowed, clinging to whatever determination remained.

"Don't say a word!" he barked. "You have no _idea_ what you are doing!"

"Yes I do!" she fumed, gripping Chris's hands so tight that pain shot through her wrists. "Maybe I wasn't strong enough to put a stop to what you did before but damn it, I'm not going to let you win this time."

Chris jumped and spun around, following the direction of her gaze but seeing nothing. She felt his fear as he turned back, did not need to see the plea in his eyes.

"It's Wesker," she gasped, speaking the truth while she still had the courage. "I...I keep seeing him...everywhere. He...he talks to me, and-"

"Stupid girl."

She looked up, and Wesker was gone. Chris...he let out a shuddering breath, running his thumbs over the back of her hands.

"Please say something," she begged. He turned back to her but his eyes were closed, and when they opened she was sure that her heart disintegrated.

"You're hallucinating?" he whispered, struggling to accept her words. "Jill, that's not good."

And she laughed, the ridiculousness of the moment chasing back oncoming tears.

"You think?" she smiled weakly.

"How long?"

"Since...Since we lost the baby."

He exhaled every breath within his lungs in one rushed, silent cry. But before she could offer comfort, he grimaced again and nodded several times, agreeing with thoughts he did not vocalise.

"When is your next appointment with Dr. Keller?" he asked, voice suddenly devoid of emotion.

It was obvious to her now that he was trying his best to remain calm for her sake, swallowing fear that would have crippled him otherwise.

"Monday," she told him. "She took our joint sessions from Dr. Williams so...two days."

"Good," he sighed, relieved. "You need to tell her. She can help-"

"I can't," she lamented, pulling her hands from his. He made no move to take them back, sympathy descending into disbelief. But she held out her hands, knowing that he had misunderstood.

"No," she gasped. "I mean...come with me. Please. I don't trust myself to be honest."

With bated breath, she waited for his response, knowing all along that he would agree. She knew him now, understood the love she had previously failed to see reason in. He was equally as terrified as she but knew that falling apart would only make things worse. And she was thankful for this, knowing that she would break if he did.

"Okay," he agreed with a smile, and he reached for her, pulling her into his arms. "And thank you for trusting me. I know it can't have been easy, but whatever this is, we're going to face it together."

Through fear and reasoning, that was all she needed to know.

**An - Please review :).**


	8. My Weak and Hoping Heart

**AN -** It took me longer than I thought to write this, and it turned out a hell of a lot fluffier than I anticipated, perhaps too much ^_^. Part one of the story ends here, part two will begin with the next chapter. And with part two will come a few new/old characters. I hope you all enjoy the update! Chapter title is from 'For The Heart I Once Had' by Nightwish.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed since the last update - _Ryoko Metallium_ (welcome back to RE!)_, Kenshin13, Ultimolu, tek, Thaleron, Ninja-Gnome, Black Metalmark, xSummonerYunax,_ and _C.R 86_ - and to those of you who added this story to your favourites/alert list. I'll try my best to get back to reviews this time round ^_^.

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Seven _**_- My Weak and Hoping Heart_

_'Just as the body goes into shock after a physical trauma,  
so does the human psyche go into shock after the impact of a major loss.'  
_~Anne Grant~

**_July 27, 2009. 10:32am. Etonfield Clinic. Arlington, VA._**

Jill had never noticed the clock in Dr. Keller's office. She had never heard the regular tick-tock, but now it almost drove her out of her senses.

_Further_ out of her senses.

The psychologist remained silent, reading through the notes she had scrawled with careful diligence. Jill's gaze wandered over the walls, taking in the framed degree certificate in Psychology from the University of Kent, the American qualifications displayed alongside it, to the photograph on her desk; obviously her husband and young son.

She looked down to Chris's hand, holding hers tightly. She could not have pulled it away had she wanted to. His eyes were closed, waiting for the inevitable news. Jill found that she was surprisingly calm, not a single tear shed as she had spilled her guts to the room. And now, Dr. Keller was sifting through the mess, flicking through notes of past sessions to gain a better understanding.

And then she rose, striding over to the bookshelf to pluck a large, blue tome from its resting place. It seemed that she had retrieved the tome merely to confirm a suspicion, but brought it with her as she returned to her seat.

"Ok, Jill," she spoke at long last, scribbling another note onto her pad. "I would like to confirm one detail. You said that the hallucinations began shortly after your miscarriage...was this the only symptom to manifest since then?"

She thought about it, then nodded. The hallucinations - now that she could accept that was what they were - had stolen most of her focus, but she was sure that nothing had accompanied them.

"And the delusions?" Dr. Keller asked. "How long would you say-"

"Delusions?" she interrupted. "What do you mean?"

Dr. Keller looked to Chris, and then back to her.

"Your behaviour hints at delusion, more often than not pertaining to your relationship," she explained. "They appear to be mood-congruent, and though they do not directly fall into pre-set categories they bear all the criteria of delusional thoughts."

Jill turned to Chris, but his reassuring smile offered her nothing. She had never conceived the idea that she was delusional; perhaps that was the point?

"She has been like this since...I'd say April or May," Chris answered. "She seemed to be alright when we found out that she was pregnant, but then...things just got worse after she miscarried."

Jill said nothing, finding it hard to acknowledge that he was right but knowing that it must be true.

Dr. Keller sighed and she knew immediately that this was not the response she had been hoping to hear.

"What is it?" Jill asked. "What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing is 'wrong' with you, Jill," Dr. Keller smiled. "But I am beginning to believe that the diagnosis of depression may have been an oversight on my behalf. This is not to say that you were not suffering from a depressive episode, because I truly believe that you were. However...in the field of mental health, a lot of symptoms overlap. In your case, I believe that the symptoms presenting during the depressive episode were...congruent with symptoms from another disorder which had begun to manifest at this stage, and as a result I did not recognise the warning signs. The hallucinations are the defining factor of a psychotic episode or a psychotic disorder and... Well, it is possible that as your therapy was targeting the less devastating symptoms it acted as an early form of treatment; it was effectively attacking the problem at the root, before it took hold. The miscarriage proved to be an unfortunate setback and sadly, this may have acted as a catalyst for the unidentified problem, leading to the hallucinations you began to experience soon after."

Though Jill did not fully understand her words, she felt frightened by what they suggested. A psychotic disorder?

"Is she going to be okay?" Chris asked. Dr. Keller sighed and set aside her notepad.

"Jill, I don't want you to worry," she requested. "I would like to ask a few more questions in a short while; a more official assessment. But I believe what we are looking at is schizophreniform disorder."

The ticking of the clock ceased, and she did not feel the pressure that Chris applied to her hand. She had never heard of the condition in her life, but in her experience, nothing beginning with the utterance 'schizo' was good.

She could feel razor blades inside her lungs, rising up her throat, blocking air as they lacerated her trachea.

But then an arm came around her, a strong hand gripping her left shoulder. His warmth drew her in, brought ease to breathing once again. When she met his eyes she saw that he was terrified, but still found a weak smile to offer her.

'It's okay,' he mouthed.

"Is that like...schizophrenia?" she needed to know.

"Essentially it _is_ schizophrenia," Dr. Keller admitted, though her voice retained its usual optimism. "In terms of symptoms, at least. However, where schizophrenia cannot be cured in the classical definition of the term, schizophreniform disorder can. In essence it is...temporary schizophrenia, if that makes it easier to understand."

"But I am still dealing with this!" Jill protested. "It's not going away. This is not temporary!"

Dr. Keller held out a hand to calm her down.

"With a provisional diagnosis of schizophreniform disorder, we can do our best to make sure that the symptoms do not persist past the six months required for a diagnosis of schizophrenia," she informed the couple. "Symptoms have been known to ease of their own accord but we can speed up the process with treatment. I do believe that this is schizophreniform disorder. Schizophrenia typically manifests in late adolescence and early adulthood, whereas schizophreniform disorder has a typical onset of eighteen to thirty five and has been known to manifest in response to trauma. The onset of your symptoms has been relatively rapid, whereas schizophrenia usually develops over a number of years and the onset of psychosis is not usually as delayed as it has been in your case. Aside from this, I would consider your diagnosis to come with good prognostic features, which are a good indication that this will not develop much further."

She could not think above the volume of her thoughts, but clung to the good. Her problem had a name! Somehow, knowing that she had not strayed into uncharted territory eased the panic she had felt since the moment she came clean to Chris.

"Hey," Chris whispered, sensing her distance. He pulled her into his arms and embraced her tightly, whispering softly in her ear.

"It's okay. Stay strong."

She sniffed back her tears, clinging to his T-shirt so that it was not so easy for him to pull away. But then the room swam back into focus and they both remembered where they were.

"What kind of treatment are we looking at?" Jill asked.

"Hospitalisation," Dr. Keller revealed, and both hearts sank. "Don't worry; it's not as bad as it sounds. The usual course of action, considering your injuries, would be to recommend a full hospitalisation program, but I feel that would be inappropriate and I believe that tearing you from your home will only make things worse. Instead, I am going to suggest a partial hospitalisation program, which would see you attending sessions during the day but you would continue to reside at home. Aside from this, I would like to prescribe a course of anti-psychotic medication."

She considered every point, giving each time to sink in before moving on to the next. If this was what it took to return to a state of normal she could barely remember, then so be it. She would take their pills, she would attend their sessions...and she would return home to Chris every night.

"Okay," she breathed, reaching a decision she knew would be life-changing. "Do what you have to do."

Chris smiled at her through his eyes, tightening his grip on her shoulder. His strength was almost overwhelming but she lost herself to it, reminding herself that it was her strength also.

"Give me five minutes," Dr. Keller requested, rising suddenly from her chair.

Tears fell as soon as the door slammed shut, her body wracked with heaving sobs. She had stared death in the eyes, had suffered through unimaginable horrors, yet nothing terrified her more than the psychologist's words. Chris moved to hold her again as she cried, the scent of his aftershave washing over her. She drew comfort from his presence, from every physical aspect of his being, yet it was still not enough. He would not be there at her side as she went through the treatment; this time, she was on her own. Faced with this realisation, she felt hope falter.

'I can't do this,' she concluded. 'I'm not strong enough, I'll fall apart.'

"Come on," Chris sighed, his voice gentle yet firm. "Stop crying."

She was shocked by the sudden switch in his attitude, pulled back to gauge his expression.

"I know what you're thinking," he told her, straight. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. You need to stop crying and do something about it."

"Chris, I'm scared," she pushed.

"And I am _terrified_," he admitted. "But fear has never stopped us before. I could wipe your tears away and give you all the sympathy in the world but I love you too much to do that. This isn't going to go away by itself and I need you to fight."

Jill smiled in understanding, grateful beyond expression. Because deep down, she knew that this was what she needed. Open arms would feel good but in the end they would do more harm than good. She needed to claw her way to freedom, not cower behind a veil of sympathy.

The disorder was just a name, the visions a by-product of a fractured mind. But fractures could heal and when they did she would be stronger than ever, free to enjoy the life they had fought for.

"I understand," she whispered. "And I agree. See; I can't function without you."

His chuckled echoed hers and, perhaps against his better judgement, he pulled her back into his arms.

"Well let's focus on changing that," he smiled. "I am not going to lose you again, not when I can do something about it this time."

There was something about his warmth that begged indulgence. Perhaps that was why she could never let go? There was safety and security in those hard muscles, confidence in his voice that made up for the drought within her. He had always believed in her; now was not the time to let him down.

"And for the record," he hummed into her ear. "You _are_ strong. If you weren't, you wouldn't be here. At the risk of sounding condescending, I am so proud of you."

"I'm not strong," she argued. "Or maybe... I don't know! I'm delusional, remember?"

As she laughed, she felt all of her worry dissipate. And when Chris laughed with her, she took it as a sign that all would be fine. Somewhere between the gentle caress of his fingertips as he brushed remaining moisture from her cheeks and the intensity of the gaze that met hers, she found immeasurable strength.

Chris touched his lips to hers moments before Dr. Keller stepped back into the room and they both adjusted themselves accordingly, though Chris did not remove the arm he had placed around her shoulders. The doctor's optimism shone through the gloom and all fear of the word 'hospitalisation' blew through the open window.

"Okay," Dr. Keller sighed through a smile as she took her seat. "You look a lot more at ease now. That's good. I have rescheduled my next appointment so we have an extra hour today - I thought we might need it. Don't worry - no hidden charges."

Jill smiled appreciatively. She did not care about the money; the BSAA were footing the bill for her treatment.

"I have also invited one of the nurses from the unit you will be visiting," the doctor continued. "Together we can talk through what you will be involved in."

"And what will that be?" Jill asked.

Dr. Keller flashed her smile again, evidently set on a course of action.

"The program will consist of daily psychotherapy sessions," she explained. "Also, we will try you in a few group sessions and other forms of therapy and see how you respond. As I said, you will be prescribed antipsychotic medication, and I think it would be greatly beneficial to involve you in family therapy. For this, both you and Chris and anyone else it may concern will attend sessions together to...talk about what you are going through. It will help with your trust and openness and will also help those close to you understand exactly what it is you are going through. It would also be a great opportunity to gauge your progress with feedback from your family. Does this sound like something you would be okay with?"

It did. Though she had promised both Chris and herself that she would do whatever it took to see this through, she still did not trust herself to be completely honest. There were parts of her mind she did not feel completely in control of, and times when she would be lost in her thoughts, oblivious to her surroundings. These were the times when she truly needed her friends and if they were willing to share in this with her, she wanted them by her side.

"Does it have to be family?" she asked quietly. "I don't have much family left but...I have friends who are like siblings to me."

"It can be whoever you want it to be," Dr. Keller smiled. "Family is so much more than blood. Of course, this is all assuming that I am correct; I still need to be sure that we _are_ dealing with schizophreniform disorder. Which brings us to the next part of the session."

Jill looked to Chris for one last ounce of strength, but his eyes were on the doctor and not on her. But she knew that he was with her, and could see that he was as dedicated to this as she.

Somehow, it made all the difference in the world to know that she was not alone.

* * *

**_July 27, 2009. 2:00pm. The Fashion Centre at Pentagon City. Arlington, VA._**

Claire had never falsely called in sick, not during her tenure at Terra Save. The job meant too much to her and, as surprised as she was to admit it sometimes, she actually enjoyed it. But rather than filing paperwork, she found herself perusing Kenneth Cole as though she were being paid.

Shopping had always succeeded in cheering her up, but here she found no comfort in clothing.

"Claire?"

She briefly glanced up to catch sight of Rebecca closing in on her and sighed.

"Shouldn't you be working?" she asked.

"I was late taking lunch today," she explained impatiently. "Had a craving for Taco Bell. What's your excuse?"

Claire rolled her eyes and hung the cardigan she had been absent-mindedly observing back into the rail.

"I took the day off, do you have a problem with that?"

The last thing she wanted today was somebody on her case. Her head had been spinning so violently these past few days she began to worry just what she would do. A confrontation surrounded by expensive clothing was perhaps not the best course of action.

Rebecca sighed, shrugging off the implied direction of conversation.

"Have you spoken to Jill today?" she asked.

Just the mention of her name made Claire fearful. She was torn between checking up on her and staying clear away lest her temper upset the poor woman.

"No," she coughed.

"Check your cell."

Claire glared at Rebecca, resenting the control she appeared to have gained in their interaction. Nevertheless, she reached into her purse and extracted her cell phone.

_3 Missed Calls._

Curious, she tapped the screen.

_Jill Redfield (3)._

The name had always been a joke to her; she had always stored Jill's name as such. But now she did not smile as it flashed up on all three accounts. She had always hoped that one day she would be a Redfield, but now she did not know what to think. She knew that her friend did not tolerate Chris's bullshit but it was evident that she was not herself lately.

"Is she okay?" she demanded.

"I don't know," Rebecca sighed. "I suppose there is no harm in telling you-"

"Telling me what?" she growled in a low whisper, following when Rebecca led her out of the store and to a quieter area.

"Chris hasn't been hurting her," Rebecca insisted. "Jill went to see her therapist this morning and... She has been diagnosed with schizophreniform disorder. She wants everyone to know."

Claire blinked, not quite understanding her words. While she had taken a psych class in college, that was many years ago and she had never paid much attention in the first place.

"What is that?" she breathed. She willed herself not to worry but her heart told her that she should.

"It's a psychotic disorder," Rebecca explained quietly. "It carries the same symptoms as schizophrenia. She ended up injuring herself when she ran from...well from what she was hallucinating."

"And what was that?"

Claire tried not to sound terrified but knew that it did not translate. Rebecca sighed and suddenly she knew.

"Who do you think?"

Though she understood, she did not want to accept. She had always had the sense not to expect that everything would be okay after all Jill had been through, but she had continuously told herself that all would turn out okay. After all, Jill was strong. But strength did not factor into trauma. She knew that she would have broken instantly had their positions been reversed.

'I owe them both an apology,' she realised.

"I have to go," Rebecca announced. "I'm already late. Please call her."

As Rebecca left, Claire knew that she could do one better. So she left too, clearing the missed calls from her cell.

She drove with determination, reaching a street that was not familiar enough in record time. Jill's car was absent from the driveway, but she assumed that it had simply been stored in the garage, her father's old Nova blocking the entrance. The car was older than Chris, yet it seemed to be his ride of choice after selling his own Chevrolet shortly after Jill's disappearance. The sheer volume of assignments he ploughed through negated the need for a vehicle, and the beaten Nova became somewhat of a project in his spare time. She had never seen the car looking so good, not even after the long summer Chris and James spent fixing her up. It was a project that had never seen completion; James had lost his life before the summer was over and the car had resided in his brother's garage until Chris decided to complete the task himself, some seventeen years later.

Claire ran her fingers along the paintwork as she passed. It was a beautiful shade of blue - it did not take a genius to understand why he had chosen such a colour. Chris had chosen to buy Jill a car of her own rather than opt for something more modern himself. Though she had paid back every cent - after much protest on his behalf - the sentiment remained. How had she overlooked his thoughtfulness? How could she have jumped to such a shocking conclusion about Jill's injuries?

Breathing deeply, she knocked upon the front door.

Chris froze when he answered, eyes locked with hers as shame sank in.

"Can I come in?" she requested.

"Well, that depends," he sighed. "Are you going to hit me again?"

She was sure that her face flushed, but she found no words to offer him.

"Come in," he invited, stepping aside to let her pass.

There was no sign of Jill inside, only the faint aroma of a recently-consumed meal drifting from the kitchen.

"How is Jill?" she asked meekly, finally finding the courage to face him.

"So you didn't come to apologise?"

She frowned; he knew how difficult it was for her to swallow her pride. Perhaps he even derived some form of sick pleasure from this. But an apology was owed, big time. She knew how deeply her accusations must have hurt him, and she only hoped that they had not made their way back to Jill.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "Really, I am. I shouldn't have hit you and I had no right to accuse you of what I did. I...I don't know what got into me. My head has been so fucked up lately. I know you would never hurt her, but your drinking is worrying me. You attacked Leon; I guess...I guess...I thought maybe you had..."

She deliberately did not look at him as she admitted this. She knew without a doubt that she would fall apart if hurt crept back onto his features. So she pushed forward with her head down and arms out, catching him in a friendly embrace to emphasise the apology. It came as a relief when he returned it, and she exhaled all the air that had become trapped within her lungs.

"Is she okay?" she whispered before he could utter anything.

Chris pulled back and looked down at her, as though attempting to discern the origin of her concern.

"I though you didn't answer when she called?"

"I missed the calls," she explained. "But I ran into Rebecca and she told me about..."

His expression darkened, and she knew then how shaken he was from the revelation. But he brought her to the sofa, adding comfort to the conversation.

"She's doing okay, all things considered," he told her. "But she's scared - we both are. She's uh- taking a bath, you can wait around if you want to talk to her."

Claire considered leaving but then scolded herself. Jill wanted to talk to her; the least she could do was listen. After all, she had been neglectful of her future sister-in-law since her return.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around," she admitted. "I was scared that I'd fuck up. It's kind of ironic that in trying to avoid fucking up, that's exactly what I ended up doing."

She felt Chris's shoulder bump gently against her own; reassurance.

"If we're being honest," he sighed. "I felt exactly the same. I was scared that I was going to make things worse, that she needed her own space and time to adjust. I even held off proposing for that very reason. But in the end, it seemed that was exactly what she didn't need. After such a long period of isolation, all she wanted was to know that there were people there who cared for her. You never expect to deal with something like this and to be honest, at times I felt like running away screaming. But I'm glad I didn't."

"I saw you gave her mom's ring," she laughed softly. "It's strange, but…I'm not even pissed that she left it to you anymore. It just looks right on Jill, like it belongs with her."

He tried to suppress a smile, but failed. For many years, she had forgotten that he had inherited their mother's ring, reminded only when she kept him company as he packed for the mission that had changed everything.

_There was no mistaking the provenance of the ring; she had often played with it in her childhood days. The diamonds glistened as they always had, and she could tell that he had taken good care of it._

_Chris turned, catching sight of the open box in her hands._

_"Shit," he breathed._

_Claire looked up, startled beyond words. He was packing for a long weekend in Europe with Jill. Sure, they were working, but why else would he pack such a precious family heirloom?_

_"This is…this is mom's ring," she breathed. "Are you…?"_

_He looked away, smiling despite embarrassment._

_"What happened to waiting?"_

_"I think we've waited long enough," he smiled. "If this assignment goes as planned, Spencer will be behind bars and we will have Wesker's location, or at least means to find him. It's almost over, Claire. I'm going to propose after the mission. I…I think she will say yes. At least, I hope she will."_

_He laughed nervously, but she was still too dumbstruck to respond. Even as he sank onto the edge of his bed, he seemed delirious. She had not seen him smile so brilliantly in many years._

_"I've never felt this way about anyone," he told her; a confession of sorts. But she did not know who he was confessing to._

_Carefully, she closed the box and tucked it back into the pocket from which it had fallen. She was proud of herself remaining so calm, despite the urge to squeal excitedly and trap her dopey brother in a bear hug._

_"She'll say yes," she grinned. "I'm sure of it."_

The memory faded into nothing. She had been aware of Jill's inability to have children, and so had dared not probe the subject of a niece or a nephew. But now…now parenthood was once again an option to them both. She had often wondered what had taken them so long with the wedding; surely they wanted to marry as soon as possible, to start a family before Jill's age became an issue?

Now she knew. Her mind was barely equipped for survival, let alone ensuring the survival of another.

"What can I do?" she asked. Whatever it took, she was willing to see it through, for both of them.

Chris met her eyes briefly and she could sense that he read her expression, attempting to determine exactly what it was that she was asking.

"Every Thursday at three she has a...family therapy session," he told her. "I'll be there, and Rebecca and Leon have agreed too, so have Barry and Kathy. She wants you there as well."

She did not even pause to consider the request, nodding firmly before he had finished speaking. Guilt plagued her for the absent weeks but she was determined to make it up to her friend.

"Sometimes...I wish I could bring him back," Chris sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. She did not need to ask who he referred to, but was shocked to hear this admission. "Just so I could tear him apart again for what he did to her...for what he is _still_ doing to her."

She felt a sudden rush of sympathy and reached for his arm, squeezing gently as the corner of her lips twitched downwards. Chris had always been able to shrug off catastrophe, but when it was personal it hit him hard. Everything that Wesker did to Jill, he may as well have done to Chris. She did nothing, and knew that this was the most she could do. Chris shared his problems with no-one, and he was ten times as secretive when it came to Jill.

A lock was opened upstairs, footsteps sounding across the landing.

"How are things with Leon?" he asked, snapping her attention back to the conversation at hand.

"Better," she smiled. "Whatever that means. But he is leaving in a few days - said he cancelled a four-week assignment to Kiev but as a result ended up being roped into a two-week assignment in Colombia."

She still did not know how she felt about this; she did not want to miss him, but her heart and her mind seemed awfully disconnected these days.

"At least he will be working with Carlos," she sighed. "Call me crazy but I kind of miss the guy."

Carlos had joined the South American branch of the BSAA shortly after its formation. Both Jill and - surprisingly - Chris had offered to help with the issue of nationality that prevented him from joining the North American branch, but he had declined. He did not have much family left and Claire believed that he simply wished to make up for lost time before it was too late. Last she had heard, he had moved in with his ailing grandmother.

"But you don't want him to go?"

She considered her brother's words. Dare she admit the truth?

"It's...complicated."

Chris chuckled, eyes darting briefly to the stairs when footsteps were heard again.

"You're impatient, Claire," he informed her with a smile. "Love doesn't come easily to anyone. Give him time."

"I thought you'd be on my side!" she laughed incredulously.

"I like Leon," he laughed in return. "And it's obvious he cares about you. You could do a lot worse. Please don't throw a good thing away."

And she knew that he was right. Her hesitance had caused more problems in their relationship than his lack of ability to vocalise his feelings. Instead of worrying about the future, why could she not simply be thankful for what she had?

Footsteps sounded again upstairs but this time Chris rose, treading to the base of the staircase to glance up. They sounded next against the stairs, slow as Jill stepped into view.

"Hey," she purred as she neared him, pressing her body into his as she ran a hand sensually over his chest. The sight was sweet to Claire's eyes but she still bit back the urge to vomit.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asked, trying to push her hand away but she would not take the hint.

"Much," she smiled. "So, what do you say we make the most of a quiet afternoon?"

Chris cocked his head gently to the side and it took Jill a few seconds to realise that the twitch was intentional. When she turned and caught sight of Claire she coughed audibly and stepped back, too embarrassed to look either in the eye

"Rain check," Chris told her with a smirk, pressing a quick kiss to her hair as he lifted a foot to the bottom step. "I'll let you two catch up."

And then he was gone, silence catching both girls unaware. It was an uncomfortable silence, but one of understanding. And as Jill moved towards the sofa with slow steps, Claire knew that it would be a long afternoon.

* * *

**_July 27, 2009. 7:43pm. 19 Meadow Hills Apartments. Arlington, VA._**

Rebecca had sunk into the bathtub as soon as she had returned home. Candles were lit, the sweet aroma of bath salts lingering on the humid air. Connolly had offered to take her out for dinner, had even offered to drop Mia round for a few hours of company. As much as she loved her goddaughter, she just wanted to be alone tonight.

But even the warmth of the water and the soothing melody of gentle acoustic rock could do nothing to overshadow such a terrible weekend. One friend dead, another diagnosed with a complex and sometimes dangerous condition. She was beginning to believe that she was bad luck.

'Don't think like that,' she scolded herself, frowning at the cooling temperature of the water.

The bubbles had almost died out and she knew that the warmth would not linger. So, she gripped the sides of the tub with pruned hands and heaved herself out.

Her apartment was a mess, but she knew she would find insufficient energy to clean if she could even be bothered to try. Instead, she would change into her pyjamas, brush her teeth and sink into bed. Alone.

She contemplated calling Jill as she pulled a fresh pair of bed shorts from the drawer. She rarely slept so early; perhaps she would enjoy a trip to the cinema? But she shrugged off the idea before it could manifest. What would they see? A rom-com or some movie about talking guinea pigs? The idea seemed less appealing to her than it would to Jill.

'All this money, all this space...and you're still alone.'

Rebecca knew that she only had herself to blame for such a predicament. She poured everything she had into her work, had given up on dating. All she needed was a cat, and she would be set for spinsterhood.

She cursed herself for being so selfish. She had her health and she had her life...that was more than she could say for Billy.

As her eyes burned furiously, she found her desk in the spare room, pulled open the top drawer. The small box she had pushed to the back was removed with little difficulty, though the hinges creaked as she eased it open; it had been a while since she had gazed upon the contents. But the dog tags remained as she remembered, cold to the touch as she gathered them in her right hand, the chain falling over her fingers.

When she had filed the report of Billy's death, they had failed to request the tags. She had simply never handed them over, had forgotten that they remained in her possession until 2003, when they had fallen from a brown paper envelope that had been squashed between the pages of an old Jane Austen novel.

She grasped them tightly in her hand and made to retrieve a candle from the bathroom. The living room remained steeped in darkness when she returned, illuminated only by the light emanating from her bedroom. When she lit the candle, light flared suddenly before settling into a warm amber hue. She had no photograph, but the dog tags were enough, and she set them on the fireplace along with the candle.

The light caught the dulled surface of the metal and she found that she could not draw her eyes away. Tears slid down her cheeks, and she just let them fall. What good would wiping them away do?

_"I guess it's time to say goodbye. Officially, Lt. Billy Coen is dead."_

_"Yeah, I'm just a zombie now."_

Finally, she raised a hand to her eyes, choking back regret. She should have reached out to him; perhaps he had been too afraid to contact her? She was amazed that she had not been brought in for questioning over the fake report she had submitted. Maybe she would never understand why he kept his distance. Perhaps he had simply not cared?

'It was one night,' she reminded herself for what felt like the millionth time.

Wordlessly, she reached for the phone, dialling the first number that came to mind.

Suddenly, she did not feel like being alone.

* * *

**_July 27, 2009. 8:30pm. 504 Tower View Apartments. Washington, D.C._**

Leon did not seem surprised to see her when he returned home, exhausted from a long day of preparation. She seemed to spend more time in his apartment than she did in her own lately.

She was deep in thought when he threw a casual greeting her way, stopping only when she did not reply.

"Are you okay?" he asked, setting down beside her on the sofa.

She blinked at him, unsure of how to answer. The long conversation with Jill had taken a lot out of her. While it was good to talk to her friend, she was afforded a glimpse into her unstable life and, quite frankly, it terrified her. She did not know how Chris coped with everything that had been forced upon them, but was glad that Jill had his support.

And then, memories of a past embrace drifted back. Jill's hospitalisation had terrified her, so much that she could barely remember marching over to Chris's house, punching him with enough force to bruise her knuckles. What she could remember, however, was the embrace she had found herself in when the fear had become too much. She had never asked for Leon to be at her side, yet there he was.

Her perspective on their relationship had altered; she could _feel_ it. When she had felt so lost, he simply held her, desperate to bring comfort to her world. Then, he had taken her home, had lain with her on her bed when she refused to rest alone. It was not until the next day she discovered that he had cancelled a fairly important meeting just to keep her company.

She was not used to this, and the emotions that coursed through her as a result were more terrifying than anything she had faced in recent years. Relationships had always been about satisfying mutual interests, never amounting to more than a great friendship with the added benefit of sex. But the emotions that Leon conjured within her propelled her understanding of relationships to a whole new level; she was not even sure how to interpret things anymore. And now...now she had fallen deeper, when she did not even think it was possible. Now, she understood that while he may not love her, he cared enough to make that fact somewhat irrelevant, at least for now.

So she wrapped her arms around him, breathing in his scent as he welcomed her affection.

"Hey," he whispered, and she sighed as his body relaxed. She sensed further words that lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he remained silent, holding her affectionately.

Why had she ever doubted his feelings? He had always been there for her; wasn't that how their relationship had begun?

"I'm sorry," she sighed as she dropped one arm, settling onto his chest. "I've been a pretty lousy friend to everyone lately."

"It's been an emotional week," Leon told her. "It's not your fault."

"Have you spoken to Jill?" she asked, pulling back momentarily. She could tell from his fallen expression that he had.

Leon and Jill had always been close; a friendship that had surprised her at first. She knew that he was not on good terms with his siblings, and seemed to have adopted her as a sister of sorts. She saw a lot of herself and Chris in their interactions, and so she could only assume how the news of her illness had hit him.

"You couldn't have known," he assured her. "To be honest, staying away was probably the best thing you could have done for her. No offence, but you're more aggressive in terms of emotions than Chris at times. That and...you tend to take things to heart. Jill is worried about Chris, so he must be in a state; the same would have happened to you. She already feels guilty enough and I meant what I said; I hate seeing you upset."

She felt a blush rise to her cheeks, wanting to deny his claims but knowing that there was no point. But it was the final admission that struck a chord deep within her. His desire to comfort her was strange in her eyes, but she adored his affection, had never once doubted that it was genuine.

"You're pretty special, you know that?" she smiled. All of a sudden, it was though she looked at him in a different light. She could see the worry that plagued him, the desperation that she only ever saw lingering behind blue eyes in her presence. And when he kissed her a moment later, she felt affection that drew her in, infecting her senses.

But this time she did not fight back, simply allowed emotion to flow over her, knowing that she had never felt more adored. She did not linger on his hesitance, or question his true feelings. She succumbed to the moment and found that ignorance truly was bliss.

And when they pulled apart, she became lost in his eyes, catching sight of something wild an untamed, something hypnotic that cried adoration. It was more than she had ever felt from a lover, more than she had ever hoped to feel. Maybe it wasn't love, but it was something wonderful, something she was desperate to know more about.

When she kissed him, she felt every whisper of love within cling to his essence. He acted startled at first, but melted into her, falling back when she pressed on his shoulders.

She knew that it was dangerous, opening herself up to that which had terrified her for so long. But she loved him, and she knew that insecurity would only dull the emotions. What terrified her more than accepting love was the prospect of waking up one day to find that it was gone. She did not want to lose him.

But it was not this reason that brought her body to press against his, that brought shudders to her breath as his fingers danced up her thigh.

'It's time to let go,' she told herself. 'You're not even holding back from him anymore - you're holding back from yourself.'

He smelled incredibly good, tasted even better. And though fatigue whittled away at his being, he held her with enthusiasm, kissed her with more. She could feel his heart beat against her breast, faster as she ran his bottom lip through her teeth, returning to capture them both with hers before he could utter a single word. As he relinquished his defences, she sensed the submission, smiling to herself. She was in control, and even he stood not a chance against her love; a terrifying beast that had been subdued for so long.

His grip on her slackened as she felt something brush against her thigh, an expression of pure horror falling into his eyes.

"Oh God," he gasped, his tone hilariously apologetic. "Claire, I am _so_ sorry."

But she laughed, raising her eyebrows momentarily.

"Come now," she teased. "At least we know everything is in working order."

He appeared baffled, then intrigued. She had never been in any doubt of the physical attraction between them both; she had thought him handsome the moment they met and this was not the first time Leon Jr. had interrupted the party. Holding back from sex had been agonising at times, but she had wanted to be sure that the attraction was not purely physical; she wanted to know that he cared for her as she did for him, and that she would not simply be one more notch in his bedpost.

Now, his eyes reflected terror she had felt since the first night they had almost crossed that line. He cared for her; she knew that. He was afraid of losing her, afraid of seeing her in pain. Hell, she had barely touched him, had poured nothing but love into the kiss, and he was hard.

Claire pushed back, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. When Leon pushed himself upright, he reached for her, fingertips gently touching the bare skin of her arm. But hers made contact first; she had not even been aware that her hand had moved until her fingers wound around his wrist. And she pulled him with her as she moved, enticing him with a seductive gaze.

"Claire," he breathed, following her lead to the bedroom. "We don't have to do this."

"Do you want to?"

She carefully gauged his reaction, scrutinising every line of his face. One wrong move and she knew that she would falter, would make her excuses and return to Alexandria before he understood what had happened.

His eyes remained with hers, brimming with a multitude of emotions. Not once did they flicker to her body, to the midriff now exposed by a ruffled tank.

"Yes," he smiled.

She sensed a smart remark coming, but silenced him before he could speak.

Buttons rained to the floor as she ripped at his shirt, wasting no time. It was Armani; expensive. Still, she felt no guilt, no remorse, and he paid not a sliver of attention to the ruined garment. And he afforded the same courtesy to her, ripping her cheap tank rather than break the kiss for even a moment. Even underwear tore, the metal hooks of her bra bending when he failed to correctly unhook the garment. She could not even care that it was one of her favourite bras.

His lips burned her skin, and she felt the control that she had gained slowly slipping. He had the upper hand, knew how to use it.

Claire squealed when he pulled her thighs upwards, sweeping her off her feet and sending her crashing down onto the bed. But she found sense long enough to wrap her legs around his waist in the seconds before she fell, and he fell with her.

Suddenly, urgency left. Their eyes met, and an unsteady breath caught in her throat. The intensity of his gaze bore into her, weakening whatever resolve she may have left. And when he kissed her, he was sure to miss her lips, nipping the skin of her jaw before trailing his tongue across her clavicle. She gasped at the sensation, arching her back beneath him.

She barely registered the sensation of underwear sliding past her knees, but jerked uncomfortably when she felt his lips against her thigh.

"Not tonight," she begged, tugging on his arm. She needed no benefits tonight, simply wanted to be with him, regardless of the sensation.

Leon smirked, kissing up her body until he reached her lips once again. And she savoured the kiss that he offered, desperate to push and regain control but succumbing to the voice that screamed within her mind, telling her to give in to him, to trust him.

She did not know how long they lay there, kissing, caressing, simply holding each other. But his hands trembled as he finally pulled back, brushing damp hair from her eyes. Claire blinked, pressing a hand to his cheek.

It seemed that he took this sign as permission, and captured her lips once again. She could barely breathe amidst the heat, but knew that it had little to do with the humidity.

"I love you," she whispered. And with those three words, the emotional shield finally fell from her grasp. She did not care that he did not return the words, simply kissed her with enough passion to render any utterance redundant.

Because life was far from perfect, and love never was. But this...this was bliss. And bliss was a good place to settle.

* * *

**_July 27, 2009. 9:45pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Chris did not know why he had brought the scan down from the bedroom. Its position on the fireplace had been perfect, though with the increasing frequency of visitors it became too risky to leave it as it was. And so it had found its way to their bedroom, propped on the table at Jill's side of the bed by her own hands.

She was upstairs now, brushing her teeth in preparation for bed. He had told her that he would soon follow, but now doubted that he would sleep at all.

Jill had faced her diagnosis with bravery that had impressed him, though he knew that it should not have. They had barely made it home before she had begun calling her friends, letting them all know what had transpired. She had not cried once since she stepped through the front door, not even after a conversation that had left Claire teary-eyed.

'This is good,' he smiled inwardly. 'She is fighting it already; there is nothing to worry about.'

But he still feared the diagnosis. He felt pain over all she had described, regretting that she had to go through any of it. He felt anger over the way she had been treated, pride over how hard she had fought and how hard she was _still_ fighting despite this significant obstacle. So many emotions, and he lacked the ability to understand any of them, even to separate them and scrutinise each one individually.

It was times like these he had turned to drink, had perhaps disappeared to the gym. But the glass on the coffee table before him contained only water. He had relied too much on alcohol to pull him through. It had been his strength when he had none. But now his thoughts did not even tiptoe that way. He knew that it was irresponsible. She needed him, and he needed to stop running from all that he felt.

But what _did_ he feel?

Jill had admitted that she held no regret over the actions that had led to her imprisonment. Every time he apologised, she scolded him, would not let him wish for anything else. And his heart broke every time she told him that despite all that it had led to, she could not and would not regret saving him; she would go through it all again...for him.

It was hypocritical of him to protest this his knew; he would have felt the same had their positions been reversed. It had nothing to do with love; it was simply the kind of person she was. Kind, selfless...brave.

'And what about you? You're a coward.'

He glanced to the scan, to the bear he had placed alongside it on the coffee table. Had it truly only been six weeks?

In the week following the miscarriage, he had taken to cleaning the house, to removing every trace of her pregnancy while she refused to leave the comfort of their bed. It had helped to occupy his mind, but it had never been truly on the task. Just the week before, he had found a stray pregnancy magazine tucked away in their closet.

That awfully familiar feeling rose in his gut but the water he knocked back did nothing to soothe the fire in his chest.

'You didn't want to make things worse for her. At least, that is what you told yourself.'

He knew in reality that his silence on the subject had more to do with his fear of the agony that had presented itself in the aftermath than it did with helping her.

But now there was nothing to occupy his mind, nothing to push the broken promise of fatherhood to a safe, secure place.

He had never known how desperately he wanted a child until Jill had announced that he was to be a father. A family was all he had ever truly wanted, and he had fallen hard enough for Jill to know that she was the absent woman the moment their lips had first touched. Was this all a test of his love? To see how much he would take for her?

He missed the appointments, missed holding her hand at every scan, the sound of their baby's heartbeat filling the room. He missed falling asleep with one hand on the gentle swell of her stomach.

Chris reached for the scan, but retracted his hand as the encroaching sense of tears became evident. He couldn't cry. Not here, not in front of her. He did not like displaying weakness before her.

But then fingertips pressed gently against his left shoulder, sliding back until a warm hand was felt through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. He had not heard her approach, had not felt her step round the back of the sofa. But he felt her now.

She dropped beside him suddenly, taking him into her arms. They wound around his neck, a hand sliding into his hair, holding him tightly to her. He questioned her motive until his eyes were drawn to moisture on her skin, trickling down her back to pool against the top of her cami. He held her just as desperately, fearing that he would drown them both with his tears.

He could not stop, did not even feel expected shame. Memories of midwives and that fuzzy shape washed over him, ensured that the tears kept coming. Six weeks of emotion, pooling painfully on her shoulder. And she held him tightly, so small in his arms.

"It's okay," she whispered. It felt strange to hear the words in her voice, so often had he spoken them himself. "It's okay, baby, it's okay."

But it wasn't. He could not think how to express to her how he felt; what he had lost. How could he tell her all that festered within when he had played the 'fine' card so many times since then?

Then it occurred to him: she already knew.

That she could still hold him, could still offer comfort despite all that plagued her own mind...it astounded him, hammered the truth of her love for him home. And suddenly, longing for the lost dissipated. Because her love was all he needed, and she held more for him than he ever could have imagined.

Though the loss of their child had truly devastated him, he knew that he possessed something that could not be stolen so easily. He had _her_, and as long as she could hold him like this, without judgement and without embarrassment, he knew that he had everything.

And suddenly, the agony did not seem so profound.

"This isn't fair on you," Jill breathed, her voice echoing in the emptiness of his being. "Please stop doing this to yourself. Don't be ashamed to admit that you're hurting. It's okay to cry."

Though sense screamed at him to stop, he pulled back enough to meet her eyes. She moved only one of her arms, bringing a thumb to brush away moisture on his cheek.

"I love you," he whispered, as though the admission were a dangerous secret. He did not know what else to say; all he knew in that moment was that he loved her, and that he was perhaps the luckiest man alive to have that love returned to the degree he currently witnessed.

"This relationship thing works both ways," she smiled. "I'm here for you, too. And..."

She glanced to the ultrasound picture, grimacing at memories of her own.

"We'll have children," she sighed. "We'll get married, and we'll be happy. It sounds like a fairytale but I think we're due one."

He laughed first, closing his eyes as she pressed a soft kiss to his cheekbone. Her lips were soft to the touch; they felt incredible no matter where they kissed.

And then she pulled him back into a tender embrace, and he was grateful for the affection. He had never met anyone quite like her; so strong even when broken. She always found strength to loan to others. He only wished that she would recognise her own.

"I think it's time we put the scan away," she whispered into his hair. He could tell that she did not truly want to, that her decision was perhaps based on the realisation that the pain he felt was not merely echoes.

But he agreed. Because the only way to move forward was to make peace with the past, no matter how horrifying the reality may be. She had been pregnant, she had lost the child; that was that, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Chris closed his eyes, and as they both lay back against the cushions of the sofa, he knew that those eyes would not open again until morning. And when they did, they would see things differently.

**AN - Please review :).**


	9. Of Sickness and Secrets

**AN** - So this chapter took nowhere near as long to finish as I thought it would ^_^. A little bit of happiness for our friends, but I assure you, the drama is far from over. This is just a filler chapter, hope you all enjoy!

I always like to say a huge thank you to everyone who took the time to review - _Kenshin13, Ultimolu, Thaleron, tek, natza12345, Ryoko Metallium, Black Metalmark, 86, xSummonerYunax, Ninja-Gnome _and_.-SnipingWolf_. Last chapter is the second most reviewed chapter of the story so far so thank you all so much! Things are getting a little busy for me now, so updates may be a little less frequent; weekly updates are likely off the cards until Christmas (but never say never!) but hopefully the gaps between updates shouldn't be too long.

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Part Two - Haze_**

**_Chapter Eight_**_ - Of Sickness and Secrets_

_'Each morning when I open my eyes I say to myself:  
I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today.  
I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet.  
I have just one day, today, and I'm going to be happy in it.'  
_~Groucho Marx~

**_September 4, 2009. 12:17pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

The bedroom was tidy for once, suitcase filled to the brim with her recent purchases. Jill smiled as she folded the last few items, her mind on nothing but the vacation she felt was well-deserved.

It had been Chris's idea, as had the destination; one week on Oahu, another on Kauai. Their first holiday as a couple had been spent in Hawaii and it surprised her that he remembered how much she had loved it there. It was more the company that she cherished, but she felt her heart warm when she considered the carefully-planned vacation.

The past six weeks had not been easy, not by any stretch of the imagination. For a whole month, she had spent six days a week in intensive therapy before her treatment was downscaled to shorter daily sessions five days a week, lasting two weeks until they deemed her well enough return to weekly sessions with Dr. Keller. The whole process had been exhausting, terrifying and incredibly draining. She had spent the first week in tears, convinced that she was simply not equipped for this, that she would not get better and there was little point slogging through the long days of emotional upheaval. But Chris had persuaded her otherwise, and she found that it got better as the days went by. Perhaps it was the first session of family therapy that had swayed her? Part of her had not expected the others to turn up, but they had, and they had been more supportive than she ever could have hoped for.

Chris had been there every step of the way, driving her to the hospital in the morning, and waiting in the reception every afternoon to take her home again; always on time, always so glad to see her. And when they returned home she found that dinner was always waiting. He was not the greatest cook, but she appreciated the effort and the opportunity to simply relax.

Progress had not come easily, nor had it magically fluttered into existence overnight. At first, she had argued with Chris through her tears, accusing him of forcing her into this. He had yelled back, told her that he wasn't but he would if he had to. Looking back, she knew that he only had her best interests at heart, that he cared about her wellbeing more than he cared about what she thought of him.

Now, she could see that she had changed. Wesker had not appeared to her in weeks, and her thoughts were no longer clouded. She could see clearly, could _think_ clearly. Finally, she felt like the girl who had plummeted through that window; at long last, she felt like the old Jill Valentine. But she felt the stress of the treatment lingering, nausea encroaching at the most unfortunate moments. She was sure that she had gained weight also, quite often bloated and uncomfortable. Or perhaps this was how it felt to not be medicated?

Chris too had seen the change. He was back to his old self; messy, often lazy. He had finally relaxed, no longer afraid to act like himself around her. There was life in him once again, as there was in their relationship.

She reached for the final item of clothing, surprised for a moment when half of it fell to the floor. Retrieving it, she noted that this was not the bathing suit she had bought. It was a bikini she had considered purchasing but had decided instead to leave on the shelf. It was a beautiful shade of blue, and she could recall how expensive it had been. But it was not expense that had caused her to abandon the idea of purchasing the item. It was revealing...too much so for her taste. Although she had never been averse to flashing a little flesh - she knew she had a good figure, had nothing to be ashamed of - she still felt uncomfortable with what she had been left with. One night, Chris had grown sick of her complaints, had dragged her before the full-length mirror in her underwear and pointed out the many ways in which her body was perfect in his eyes. But all she could see was skin that was still a little too pale, scars hideously prominent on her chest, legs that were a little too long, and a stomach that she still had difficulty glancing at.

Instead of casting aside the flimsy item, she packed it. Chris would only complain if she didn't, and she did desperately want to work on her self-image.

There was nothing more to pack save toiletries, so she zipped up the case, heaving it off the bed to place it beside Chris's. A frown twisted her features; a mere two days separated them from a long-overdue vacation and his suitcase remained empty, save for a toothbrush, a pack of condoms and a clean T-shirt draped over the side. She rolled her eyes impatiently. He would pack at the last minute, as he always did.

Her phone buzzed behind her on the bed and when she reached for it, she was surprised to see Chris's name flash upon the screen. As far as she knew, he was downstairs; this was lazy even by his standards.

'_Meet me in back garden_' read the text message.

With half a mind to text him back with a refusal, she sighed. But what harm would it do to indulge him? She knew better than to assume he had preoccupied himself with gardening; he hated the chore, and it was far more likely he wanted to rope her into multiplayer on whatever videogame he was playing this week.

She tossed her cell back onto the bed, straightening her tee before she made her way downstairs.

For September, the weather was surprisingly warm, a pleasant breeze drifting through the open doors. But Chris was nowhere in sight, absent even from the garden.

Curiously, she stepped outside, noticing that the barbecue was unlit, the table empty.

And then, something soft impacted with her shoulder, something warm and wet splashing up her neck, soaking through her tee and the hair she had decided not to tie back that day. Suspended in shock and disbelief, her eyes followed the sound of amused laughter to her fiancé, tossing a water balloon in one hand with a smirk plastered firmly on his features. He had drawn the curtains from the inside, blocking him from her view until she had stood directly in the line of fire.

"What the hell?" she fumed. "Chris...what the hell?"

He simply grinned back at her, apparently finding his actions hilarious.

"You complained about how we never do anything fun anymore," he explained.

"So you thought you'd _soak_ me?" she seethed.

"You're not soaked," he pointed out.

She sensed his next move before it came, but still did not move. It was, she concluded, a rather stupid move on her behalf. The second water balloon hit her collar bone, soaking the other side of her tee. She was only glad that she had elected to wear blue that day and not white.

"_Now_ you're soaked," he smirked.

She growled, flashing him a look that could not be construed as anything but dangerous. And then she glanced around the garden, noticing the coloured balloons that had been scattered about, some on chairs or beneath the table, some hidden in plants and some in clear view on the grass.

She leapt suddenly, diving for a nearby red balloon, aiming and propelling it towards his midriff before he was even aware that she had moved. Chris jumped, a look of fierce determination settling in his eyes.

'Game on,' she smirked inwardly.

She found shelter beneath the table, the third balloon he sent her way impacting against the chairs that shielded her. He was open and vulnerable, nothing to hide behind but plant pots and a barbecue that was too small to cover his frame. There were three water balloons beneath the table, and she threw each of them as he ran, catching him on the thigh, arm and shoulder.

"You're a big target, honey!" she called.

"Then why are you hiding?" he teased back.

With a frown, she realised that she could hide no longer. The balloons at her disposal had been utilised, the nearest requiring her to crawl from her surprisingly effective fort.

So she ran, diving out for the yellow balloon. Chris seized the moment, fired both balloons in his hands towards her, one impacting on the top of her head, the other hitting her ass as she dove. The shot she fired in response missed him, zooming over the fence into the neighbours' garden.

'Thank God they're on holiday', she laughed inwardly.

"A big target and you _still_ miss me?" Chris mocked, perhaps to the detriment of his safety. Jill fumbled for another balloon, barely visible behind the hydrangeas. As she plucked it from its hiding place, the harsh aroma of the flowers hit her and she gagged momentarily as it hit the back of her throat.

'Not now,' she urged, swallowing the sensation. After so long left dormant, her competitive streak had been re-engaged, and there was no way in hell she was going to lose this match.

Her jeans tightened from the moisture, chafing as she dodged another blow. She threw the balloon but it did not impact with enough force, merely bounced on the grass at his feet. It seemed almost ironic how this was the next balloon to strike her, catching her knee as she pushed herself to her feet.

Blows were exchanged, Chris missing many more than she. As she ducked and dived she cursed the lack of furniture in their garden, wishing that there was more for her to hide behind. In one instance, she attempted to hide behind Chris, startling him for a second before he spun around and burst a balloon against the back of her head.

"That's not fair!" she laughed, jogging away to put safe distance between them. The garden was empty now, the grass damp and many of the chairs upturned.

But then, two sets of eyes locked on a pink balloon they had both surprisingly missed. It was the last weapon, the winning strike. Laughter faded, fierce concentration flaring through blue eyes. They judged one another's movements; it was a Mexican standoff by all accounts.

Jill leapt, sprinting towards the weapon. She was fast, but he was devious, and slipped a finger in a belt loop on the back of her jeans, pulling her backwards as he dove for the prize. He caught her, not wishing for her to plummet to the ground and hurt herself, but therein lay his mistake. She twisted as her body met his, placing her weight onto him so that they both fell. And she grabbed his wrist while he was startled, smashing the balloon into his face. Droplets splashed against her skin, but it was Chris who was soaked, Chris who had inevitably lost.

He blinked up at her, dumbstruck.

"I win!" she declared, pressing a kiss to his nose as an act of commiseration.

He considered her point, glancing down into the damp cleavage that was exposed at this angle, recognising the feel of her straddling him, resting her arms on his chest.

"No," he sighed, running his hands up her thighs, over her backside and up to her waist. "All things considered, I think _I_ win."

Sighing, she slicked his wet hair back, all irritation over his unpacked suitcase melting away. Sometimes, she considered it a good thing that she apparently wore blinkers when it came to her beauty; with Chris's constant compliments, she needed something to keep her ego in check.

"I think I can settle for a draw," she whispered before stealing a kiss.

When she pulled back he continued to smile at her, lost, it seemed, in a daydream. A single smile was so precious these days, and she was thankful at long last that it was optimism she woke to every morning. Because it was moments like these that reminded her why she loved him so much. She did not want or need a romantic hero, did not want to be swept off her feet in a whirlwind of romance. She wanted a man she could grow old with, someone she could have _fun_ with. Chris was that man and so much more. He was her best friend, even after all these years. Their relationship was real, it was not some fairytale that would fizzle out eventually; she was as in love with him now as she had been in 1998, perhaps even more so. _They_ were realistic, never expecting more from one another than they knew they could give, never expecting that the road ahead would be smooth or that either was perfect. Because they weren't; they were flawed, and it was the understanding of these flaws that had nurtured a love built to last.

"Thank you," she hummed, playing with a strand of hair that sprung free of the rest.

Chris had always been handsome in her eyes, boyishly so in the days they had met. And now, at thirty-six, he had matured into a fine specimen of man. She traced his lips with her thumb, close enough to see every droplet of water that clung to his lashes.

And then she kissed him, slowly this time. His lips were warm, his stubble less harsh against her skin with the softening influence of water. His hands were cold in contrast, snaking beneath the damp fabric of her T-shirt. She shivered, laughing gently into the kiss, pressing closer to him as she lightly touched the tip of her tongue to his. Her hands framed his face; she was in control.

"Damn," he groaned when she moved her kiss to his cheek, freeing his lips though she knew he wanted more. "I should get you wet more often."

She laughed, growing hysterical as she moved to bury her face against his chest.

"I didn't mean it like that!" he protested through laughter of his own.

"Moment ruined," she laughed. "Oh Chris, you're so clueless sometimes."

He raised an eyebrow, propping himself up on his elbow as she moved to sit upright.

"I really missed your insults," he sighed sarcastically. But he smiled regardless, glad to see her back to her old self. "They say I'm the perverted one but they really don't know you, do they?"

"I picked up some of your habits," she smiled. "How about you pick up one of mine and get organised? You still need to pack."

Chris groaned, and leaned back into the arms she moved to his shoulders.

"We have two days, Jill," he moaned. "All I need to do is find my swim shorts, pack a few T-shirts and I'm done. I don't need all the crap you take."

"Well," she sighed impatiently. "Let me put it in simple terms for you: pack your bag by noon tomorrow, or you can unpack the condoms."

She saw the threat hit him, saw him swallow and then scowl.

"Fine," he relented.

"Thank you."

She pressed another kiss to his forehead, but pulled back when her vision swam, stomach slightly unsettled. Chris recognised her unsteadiness and moved to a better position to hold her.

"Still not feeling too hot?" he asked as he pressed the back of a hand to her forehead. She was a little warm, but not enough to signal the existence of a fever.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "It's probably just a reaction to coming off the medication."

"You've been off the medication for two weeks," he pointed out. "And you weren't on that large a dose to begin with."

Jill sighed. She had been feeling unwell since about mid way through her treatment, experiencing mild cold-like symptoms. She had expressed her concern to both the nurse assigned to her case and to Dr. Keller but their responses had been the same; she was fine and it was not an uncommon reaction to stress.

"You worry too much," she smiled. "Nobody said I would get better overnight."

He sighed at this, nodding in agreement. Ever since her diagnosis, he had been on-edge where her health was concerned. But she could not blame him, not when she in turn feared the effect her treatment had on him.

They both rose, water still dripping from soaked clothing. His hand remained on her shoulder as they left the garden behind them, heading straight for the main bathroom to dry off.

A towel hit her in the arm as she rung out her hair over the sink and she caught it with her fingertips, smiling at laughter from Chris's direction.

"So," he sighed as he ruffled his hair through a dry towel. "What's the theme for our next play date?"

Jill chuckled in amusement, turning to lean her back against the sink. While she had hoped that days such as these would come around regularly, lingering pessimism had caused her to drop the idea. They were always spontaneous, but Chris had been afraid of spontaneity since her return, to the point where he had admitted that he likely would still not have proposed had she not stumbled across the ring.

"How about paintball?" she suggested. "It's been a while since we went and it was always fun. We could ask the others."

"So I have to share you now?"

She threw the damp towel at him, rolling her eyes.

"Paintball sounds good," he laughed.

Jill smiled at the memory of past games. Chris always seemed to forget that he held a paintball gun in his hands and not an automatic. Their last 'friendly' game had seen Leon defect to the girls' side, offering complete and voluntary surrender. Chris's command had apparently been too much for him.

She turned to Chris, preparing further suggestions, but paused when his fingers hooked beneath the hem of his T-shirt, peeling saturated fabric from skin. With a thoroughly-interested smirk, she tilted her head to the side, admiring every curve of his muscular torso as the shirt was shed. Droplets of water ran from his shirt, gliding slowly over damp skin. He seemed oblivious to his movements, oblivious to the startling effect such a simple action had on her.

Licking her lips, she considered pushing him into the wall, tracing the ridges of muscle with her tongue. He needed out of his jeans anyway; she was sure he would appreciate the help. It was a sight she had grown accustomed to, but it never got old.

So she moved, wrapping her arms around him from behind, pressing her lips to his back, tasting the moisture on his skin. Somehow, he always tasted just as delectable as he smelled. And she breathed in this scent, feeling the warmth of his hands as they pressed against hers, flat against his toned abs.

Nausea rose in her throat, more than a threat this time. She barely made it to the toilet before her stomach expelled its contents. Before her vision restored, she felt Chris's fingers against her cheeks, gathering long hair behind her neck. And he was just in time, there to rub her back gently as she folded over the bowl a second time, her grip slipping against the porcelain.

"Ok, so you find my body repulsive," he joked. "I get it. But isn't this going a little too far?"

She laughed, though she knew it was a bad idea. Her stomach sloshed and she prepared herself for another wave, surprised when it did not come.

"I knew Rebecca shouldn't have visited," he sighed. "You probably caught what she had."

Jill nodded in agreement, but niggling voice in the back of her mind told her not to believe his words.

"Are you going to be okay?"

She nodded weakly, flushing the toilet before leaning back.

"I can reschedule the flights if-"

"No!" she protested suddenly. "I need this vacation. Hawaii will just have to deal with my puke. So will you."

Lingering unease dissipated as he smiled, checking her temperature once again. In a mere matter of minutes he had switched from big kid to worried fiancé; it touched her to know that she was always on his mind.

"Okay," he nodded. "I'll get you a glass of lemonade; it helped when you had morning sickness, it might help with this."

Morning sickness. Jill looked away, biting her bottom lip. It was the one time in her life she had not minded being sick. She had no idea where the term 'morning' sickness came from.

The voice grew louder, almost a roar. She could barely think above the din, fearful for a reason she did not yet know. But slowly, she began to understand.

"Can you go to the store?" she requested. "Homemade lemonade worked best."

With a kiss to her forehead, he agreed.

"I think I'll...lie down for a little while."

She groaned as Chris helped pull her to her feet, reaching for the mouthwash as soon as it came into sight. She rinsed, reaching for her toothbrush as Chris finished patting himself dry before he left to change into clean clothes.

The dizziness that gripped her had little to do with whatever sickness had taken hold, she knew that. So she quickly brushed her teeth, drying herself and then following Chris to the bedroom. He was fully clothed when she stepped into the room, shedding her own T-shirt quickly.

"Slow down!" he warned her. "You want to make yourself sick again?"

She apologised absent-mindedly, peeling off her jeans before strolling to the ensuite. He did not follow her, and she was grateful for this small mercy as she rifled through the cabinet to find her birth control pills.

She thought back, running over the last few months in her mind. She tracked each period.

'Each?'

She stared into the sink, attempting to concentrate her thoughts.

'You had a period a few weeks before you were rescued,' she recalled. Had it not been for Excella, she doubted that Wesker would have remembered that she was a young, healthy woman and as such faced the dreaded 'm' each month. It often made her volatile when dosed, and so for a few days a month she would be confined to her cell. 'You missed the next one...that's what made you suspect pregnancy. You were pregnant April, May...it came last day in June. And then...'

She dropped to the toilet seat, hand clasped firmly over her mouth. She had skipped her period in July, but had been told that it was likely to happen due to the miscarriage. She had blamed a delay in August on her body adjusting slowly and the added burden of stress, but thinking back, it had never come. From the schedule determined by birth control, she was due almost a week ago.

She looked to the pills in her hand, opened the pink dispenser. It should have been empty, but two remained. Her mind had been everywhere but the right place since the miscarriage and though she had believed she had taken it every day, evidently she had not. She dove for the cabinet again, finding the spare dispenser that contained the pills for the month before last. Three remaining. The level of trust between her and Chris had brought the importance of condoms from 'essential' to 'whenever we remember'. She knew that she was guilty of neglecting the use simply because she knew that they both preferred it without. She had always been careful with the pill - at least, until now.

'This...this is impossible,' she told herself. 'It can't be morning sickness. I can't be pregnant.'

But then, an awful thought crossed her mind.

'Can't be or don't want to be?'

Twelve years ago, she had been unsure if she ever wanted children. She had experienced a pregnancy scare in 1998, not long after she slept with Chris for the first time and though she had loved him back then, she had been terrified and in her terror had conveniently forgotten the condom he had used. She was only two days late, but they were the longest two days of her life. She had never dreamed that she would look upon a developing test and hope for a positive. She did not know if that was what she wanted now.

They had decided to focus on the wedding, and were so close to setting a date. With only two more potential venues to inspect, she truly felt that they would be married before Spring. Children would come after the wedding, not now! Was she truly ready for another pregnancy? After all, neither of them had fully come to terms with the tragic end to her first.

"Going!" Chris announced with an audible jingle of keys.

She jumped, but shouted an "Okay" through, waiting until his footsteps had disappeared down the stairs before she rushed to the closet, flinging clean panties and a bra from a drawer and pulling on the first dress she felt on her side of the closet. A dress was quicker; no messing about with belts. She almost tripped as she slipped into matching shoes, scrabbling for her cell when she returned to the bedroom.

The front door slammed shut as Chris left and she paused, waiting to hear the rev of his Nova. For good measure, she jogged to the study, peering out of the window that overlooked the front of their house.

'What if you are pregnant?' she asked herself.

She considered all that she had looked forward to in April, imagining the months of pregnancy, the life growing within her. She imagined holding a baby in her arms, holding Chris as he held their child, watching first steps, hearing first words. And as possibilities washed over her, she realised without a doubt in her mind that she wanted to be pregnant again.

The blue Nova reversed out of the driveway, sped off down the road. Without pause for thought, she dashed downstairs, snatching her keys off the table next to the door as she rushed to her car.

Guessing would get her nowhere. She had to be sure.

* * *

**_September 4, 2009. 12:30pm. Richmond, Virginia._**

Eric checked the address one more time, convinced that he had misread the hastily-scrawled note.

_"Find this man. He helped track down my daughter; he can do anything. I'm sure he can help."_

'Damn it, Phil, you better be right about this.'

The apartment block was not quite what he had been expecting. Clean, quiet, complete with a concierge. If Phil was right, if this man could truly help him, then he knew it would cost an arm and a leg, perhaps more.

He knocked sturdily on the door, composing himself. Moisture gathered on his forehead, collecting beneath his collar. He knew that he must remain professional despite the fear that had kept him away for nigh on a week. Surely they knew what he had done by now? They would be after him, watching him.

The door creaked open, and his hopeful saviour stepped into view. Again, he was not quite what Eric had been expecting. For one, he was much older than he; at least mid-thirties. He was dressed in a rather professional manner, his dress shirt neatly pressed, dark brown hair combed back.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

Eric paused, checking the address again.

"I...I'm a friend of Phil Preston," he explained. "He said...he said you could help me."

The man leaned out into the hallway, glanced to either side.

"Come in," he beckoned, stepping aside to glance outside one final time.

The apartment was neat and unfriendly; like a page from a furniture catalogue. A single newspaper rested upon the polished coffee table, a television he expected to be HD positioned before a dark brown leather sofa. A large window along one wall bathed the spacious apartment in light, the balcony beyond empty save for a few potted plants and a small table with two chairs. It was difficult to believe that anyone lived here.

"Nice place," Eric commented, smiling nervously.

"I doubt you came here to admire my furniture," the man observed. "You're lucky I took a liking to Mr. Preston; I don't just take on any job. How is his daughter?"

Eric balked, choking on his reply.

"She uh- she's fine," he answered. "Mother and stepfather charged with abduction. He was awarded full custody. She's...she's doing well. Much happier."

"Good. What can I do for you?"

Eric scrutinised the man, naturally inclined to trust him but knowing the seriousness of what he faced. One wrong move and he would be just another statistic; an unsolvable murder...an unsolvable disappearance if he was not so lucky.

Who did Phil say this man was, anyway? An unlicensed private investigator? He took on the jobs other PIs would not touch, cleaned up messes the police were powerless to do anything about. In other words, the perfect man for the job.

"I...I'm in a...uh, a little trouble."

"You're going to have to be more precise than that," the man sighed, pulling his hands from his pockets. "Do you want a drink?"

"Water, please."

The man chuckled, heading to the kitchen.

"I have something stronger if you want," he offered. "Scotch, bourbon, vodka...beer."

"Scotch," Eric requested. Anything that would make this meeting a little easier to stomach. "So, do you have a name?"

He glanced around the living room, noticing a significant lack of personal effects. No family photographs, no framed achievements...nothing.

"Call me...Lou," the man told him.

Lou. Eric sighed, trusting Phil's word but unavoidably nervous. 'Lou' had not given him a reason to question his intent, but he could not help the uneasy feeling that crept through him.

He occupied himself with the day's newspaper as he settled on the sofa.

**'Tricell offer substantial sum to aid production of T-Virus vaccine'.**

He scoffed at the headline. It was all about the public image in their eyes. They did not care about the good the vaccine would do; if they did, why had they waited so long? The vaccine had been available for weeks, was on the verge of being introduced in schools.

"Even the truth is bullshit these days," Lou laughed as he handed over the Scotch.

And suddenly, complete trust had been earned.

"Actually, I'm here because of Tricell," Eric revealed.

Lou froze, eyes now judgemental. It became obvious that his past had in some way been affected by bioterrorism. Then again, it was not an absurd assumption to make; it was difficult not to find someone in such a line of work that had not been affected by it. Many had lost relatives in the Raccoon City incident, more influenced by the Harvardville tragedy.

"I...used to work for them," he admitted, feeling that it was best to get everything out into the open. "Technically I still do, but... It doesn't take a genius to figure out that they are conducting illegal research. Pinning Kijuju on Excella...that was all an image campaign. I didn't know until...until recently. I was offered a job deeper within the organisation. I took it; how could I not? They would have killed me if I had refused. I lost a good friend at Harvardville…I saw this as an opportunity to set things right. I knew Tricell were involved in the clean-up, and something about that didn't sit right with me. So I used my newfound influence, dug deeper into their system and I found this…"

He pulled a USB drive from his pocket, but kept it in his hand.

"Photographs, videos, data...enough to put them away for good. I've been trying to get through to the FBI, the CDC, the GPC, Terra Save...even the BSAA. But no luck. I need help. I need protection until I can guide this evidence to someone who can do something. And I need help getting it there."

Lou glanced at the data stick, placed his glass on the table as he considered his options.

"Tricell," he hummed. "I've never dealt with them, but I have had run-ins with Umbrella. If they are anything like their predecessors, you are in a hell of a lot of trouble."

Eric swallowed. He knew this already.

"But you came to the right place," Lou smiled. "I can keep the information safe, and I can keep _you_ safe until we finally get through to the bigwigs. I have a few contacts; I'll see what I can do."

"H-How much?" Eric stammered.

Lou laughed, plucking the USB drive from his hand.

"No charge," he told him. "If this can bring Tricell down, I wouldn't dream of charging. The world would be a much better place without them."

* * *

**_September 4, 2009. 12:35pm. Arlington, Virginia._**

"Well, this is nice," Claire sang, wheeling Mia Connolly carefully along the outskirts of a playground. Mia smiled, kicking her legs against the blanket that covered her.

Claire had not been asked to babysit since she was a teenager, and so felt a little out of touch with childcare. She had honestly expected the next child in her care to be her niece or her nephew. But Connolly had begged, had pleaded until he was blue in the face. He had a meeting over lunch, his wife had an important meeting to discuss the date of her return to work, and their babysitter had called in sick at the last minute. As she had the day off, she could find no reason to refuse.

She found a vacant bench nearby and decided to rest her legs, pulling the stroller alongside. For a three month old, Mia was certainly a quiet baby, far more interested in the trees and the birds that occasionally flew overhead than in Claire.

"Your daddy owes me big time for this," Claire smiled, offering a finger to the infant.

She jumped suddenly as her cell buzzed against her thigh, cursing her forgetfulness.

"Okay, Claire needs her finger back," she urged as Mia's grip tightened. "Thank you."

With one hand on the stroller, she retrieved her cell, smiling when Leon's name appeared.

_Missing you  
xxx_

She smiled at the short message, resisting every urge to squeal like an amorous schoolgirl. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a few moments before she locked the keypad and slid the phone back into her pocket. She would keep him waiting, anxiously glancing at his phone all day...then she would call him later, at the last possible opportunity.

This assignment had only taken him to Seattle for a week, but she still felt his absence. She had stayed with him much of the time during Jill's treatment; she was surprised how easy it was to get to both the hospital and her place of work from his apartment. Suddenly finding that he was not there when she missed him was jarring to say the least. Because she truly did miss him.

"Never fall in love," she sighed, returning her finger to Mia's grasp. "Trust me."

The baby smiled up at her, giggling as she squeezed tightly on her finger.

"Oh, she's adorable," a voice cooed to her right. The girl could not have been older than eighteen, her accent not native to Virginia, not even native to North America. South, perhaps? "Is she yours?"

Claire bit her lip, watching carefully as the girl tickled Mia beneath the chin. The baby seemed to have no problem with the stranger, even released Claire's finger to reach for a lock of curly deep brown hair that lingered just out of her reach. The girl was not the first to have cooed over the baby; even mothers had paused to smile down at her, clutching the hand of their own child.

"No," she laughed, grateful for the fact. She was not ready for children, not yet.

There was something familiar about the stranger, though she could not place what it was. She was sure that she had looked into those hazel eyes before, had listened to that soft voice.

"Is she your brother's?" she asked with a knowing look in those eyes.

"Wha-" Claire gasped.

"Chris? Come on, he has to have a few rug rats of his own by now!"

But she seemed to sense the shock in Claire's eyes, straightened her posture as she turned away from the stroller, arms crossed on her chest.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" she asked, raising a plucked eyebrow. There were hints of a British tone to her accent, a stronger Latin twang underscoring it.

Claire thought back. She had met many people over the years and could recall many names and faces, but she did not know any teenagers to whom she was not related. Years of wariness had taught her to befriend suspicion, and it was this with which she looked upon the teenager.

"I'm...sorry," she sighed. Because she could not place that face, no matter how deep she probed into her own mind.

"Never mind," the girl winked. "It's been a while. How is Chris?"

Suspicion.

Claire sighed, and Mia glanced from girl to woman, her smile slowly fading. Suddenly, attention was not on her and she did not like it, not one bit.

"He's okay," Claire answered, making it clear from her tone that she would reveal no more. Chris was not the only protective member of their family.

The girl nodded knowingly, smiling in a failed attempt to convey trust and understanding.

"It's okay," she sighed. "I understand. I should...I should go. Mom will have a coronary if she finds out I'm gone. Take care of yourself, Claire."

The mention of her name surprised the older woman and she jumped, pulled back to reality only when Mia tugged on her finger. She gazed down at the baby, stroking her cheek until a smile appeared once again. Always loved to be the centre of attention; so unlike her father. But she possessed her father's brown hair, his green eyes and wide smile.

Remembering suddenly where she was, Claire looked up to find that the girl was nowhere in sight. She hummed uneasily, trying to piece together what had just happened.

"I think it's about time we left," she told Mia. "Let's go see Uncle Chris, huh?"

Flinching uncomfortably, Mia froze, sensing that something was wrong. A bitter taste fell into Claire's mouth, the realisation amusing her as much as it frightened her.

"Let's not call him 'uncle' though," she suggested. Thinking of her brother as an uncle caused her stomach to flip inside out.

But Mia laughed, kicking her legs again in infantile happiness. And Claire smiled down at her, pulling the blanket up to her chin. She had almost forgotten what it meant to be happy, but finally she felt that she could simply relax, content with what she had. And right now, that was something pretty damn special.

* * *

**_September 4, 2009. 1:20pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

The round trip to the store had taken a little longer than he had expected. A chance encounter with an old friend had slowed him down until he suddenly remembered just why he was there in the first place. So he had dashed straight for the juice, almost speeding on the way home.

He had barely stepped out of the car when his cell began to ring. Was it Jill? Her patience was a little short at times.

"Are you okay?" Claire asked, the roar of traffic audible in the background.

"I'm fine," he assured her, a little confused. "Are you calling just to check up on me now?"

Laughter echoed down the line.

"You're thirty-six, Chris," she reminded him. "I think I can trust you to take care of yourself now. I took Mia to the park near your house and called by but there was no answer. Last time I spoke to Jill she said one way or another your suitcase would be packed today – with either your clothes or _you_ in it. So is it safe to say she hasn't murdered you and fled the country?"

Chris chuckled. With the way Jill's mood had been lately he was not surprised at such a threat.

"I'm alive," he laughed. "She's in the house; she must be asleep."

"Oh, ok," Claire sighed, a little put off. "But her car wasn't in the driveway."

He glanced over to the Mazda, exactly where it had been when he left. They had talked on many occasions about buying a 'family' car, but had always settled on the idea that they would buy a joint car when they actually had a family - and that it would be the Mazda to go, never the Nova.

"Hey, I gotta go, I'm almost home. I'll call you tomorrow."

Before he could question her further, she ended the call, leaving him to drop his cell into the bag he carried, fumbling for his keys before he reached the door. And he left the bag on the table inside when it opened, planning on coaxing her downstairs. If she slept now, she would never sleep tonight.

Rustling was audible behind a door that was left slightly ajar after he shed his jacket and jogged upstairs. Tentatively, he reached out to push it open. Jill stood with her back to him, a white plastic bag on the bed before her, head bowed over something in her hands. She had changed clothes, still wore a jacket. Her legs were slightly flushed from the cold. Claire had been right; she had left.

"Hey," he spoke softly, but still succeeded in startling her. She jumped, spinning around as her right hand darted behind her back, concealing something from view.

"O-Oh," she stuttered. "Hey. Did you...did you get the...stuff?"

Chris frowned, reaching for her arm, surprised when she stepped back, almost falling back onto the bed. Concern was the first emotion that hit him, but he kept his distance, scrutinising her for any tells.

"What have you got?" he asked. Her right arm twitched, an expression of panic creeping onto her features.

"Would you believe me if I said nothing?" she sighed. Chris shook his head, smiling in the hope that she would know that whatever it was, she did not need to be afraid.

Slowly, she moved her arm, revealing a small rectangular box. She did not relinquish it, merely held it so that he could see.

_Pregnancy Detection Test_, the print read. _99.9% accurate!_

Now, he was the one to freeze, eyes moving cautiously from the box to hers, watching as she drew her bottom lip between her teeth. She was nervous, frightened perhaps. Overcome with the urge to pull her into his arms and offer a whole world of comfort, he found himself suspended in an emotional vacuum, rooted to the spot.

"Are you- Are you pregnant?" he asked. It was a stupid question; if she knew, she would not be holding a sealed test.

"I don't know," she breathed. "I think I might be. I'm late, and I missed a few pills. The sickness and fatigue and... This is how I felt when I was pregnant."

She waved the test in the air, averting her eyes as she drew a shuddering breath.

"But I'm too scared to take this," she admitted. "Now that you're here, will you...will you sit with me?"

Chris nodded slowly, working on empty. And Jill nodded in return, whispering a quick "Thanks" before she turned back to the bag pulling out another identical box and then two of another design before it collapsed into itself.

"I, uh..." she laughed weakly. "It was two for one and I wanted to be sure...so I got two different types."

He forced a smile as she carried them into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her.

And then, the veil lifted, and a fearful sense of joy swept over him.

'She's pregnant,' he told himself. 'It all makes sense now...'

Pain flared in his cheeks as he grinned, dropping back onto the bed. The bag rustled beneath him but he barely heard the disturbance above the sweet lullaby that filled his mind.

After so much pain and suffering, so much hardship even after her rescue, he knew that they deserved good news. Because she had been right; nothing short of a fairytale could make up for the hell the past few years had been, and it was overdue. She would make a wonderful mother, and the thought of raising a child with her made him happier than he ever thought he could be. She was happier now, healthier, and just as stubborn as he had come to expect. It may not have been the perfect time to have a child, but it was a damn good time and they knew by now that perfect rarely came around and when it did, something always got in the way.

It was strange how priorities had changed over the years. In their days of fighting, his only wish had been for sturdier armour and a more powerful weapon, for the safety of his teammates and the victims of an unfair war. It was a sweet relief to wish for only what now amounted to little more than simple. A child. His child. _Jill's_ child.

While part of him missed the BSAA, he knew that his time as a soldier was drawing to a close. He was not getting any younger, and though he had never been fitter, had never felt more capable than he did now, he recognised that he could not keep up this level of performance for long. His old friends within the different branches of the armed forces had settled into positions that took them away from the field; positions of command, sometimes training new recruits. He had always told himself that he would settle down when the time felt right, and now it did. His superiors would no doubt protest losing one of their best agents, but the fight was no longer important to him. With the vaccine soon set to go worldwide, incidences of bioterrorism would drop; there would be little need for him. Wesker was dead, Spencer too, and Umbrella were nothing but a bitter memory. His job was done; it was time to _live_.

'You know you're right. Think back to Raccoon; you never wanted this, you never wanted to be caught up in something so dangerous. All you wanted was a normal life, and here it is.'

Chris rolled his head to the side, frowning when he heard no movement inside the bathroom.

"Jill," he called, pushing himself upright and jumping from the bed to approach the door to the ensuite. "Is everything okay in there?"

Silence. Then a sigh of irritation.

"No, it's not," she groaned. "Chris, I can't do this."

He smiled, knowing that she had nothing to fear, preparing to tell her so.

"It's peeing on a stick, honey," he joked. "How hard can it be?"

She huffed, perhaps biting back a harsh remark.

"A lot harder than you think," she growled.

"Just breathe...deep breaths."

Silence again, followed this time by laughter.

"I want to take this test!" she explained. "But I...I can't. I'm too nervous...I can't pee!"

Chris clasped a hand to his mouth, stifling laughter.

"Stop laughing!"

"I'm not-"

"Just go away! Stop talking to me, this is hard enough as it is!"

And he obliged, thinking it better that he step away before he fell into hysterics. Somehow, even the smallest detail made him want to collapse in peals of laughter. It seemed that his absence worked when, several minutes later, he heard the toilet flush, and the steady rush of water into the sink.

The lock slid back a moment later and Jill pulled open the door, a light blush to her cheeks.

"Okay," she spoke quietly, waving him inside.

The four tests were lined up on the seat of the toilet and Jill moved as far away from them as she could, sliding down the far wall.

"The instructions said to wait three to four minutes for 'accurate results'," she explained as he quietly sat next to her. "The digital ones are a little quicker but we may as well wait to be sure. I'm not wearing a watch, so..."

Chris nodded, feeling the weight of his own against his wrist. Instinctively, he reached an arm around her, though she did not lean into him, simply placed her left hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. Her hair was still damp, cold against his skin. Immediately he worried, remembering her movements in the heat of the fight. She had not been careful, not knowing then that she may not be the only one to feel the impact of her falls.

"What if it's positive?" she asked before he could voice his concern. "What if...what if it ends the same? I don't think I can take another blow like that."

A shiver swept through his bones as he considered this. He did not want to believe that a repeat was possible; he could not handle the possibility. But he knew that he must take it all in stride; a lot of pregnancies failed in the first trimester, it was a reality every couple faced. The doctors had confirmed months ago that there were no further traces of P30 in her system and he knew that she could not possibly have been pregnant at that point.

"If it's positive," he breathed. "We will take it one day at a time; we'll be realistic. If you are pregnant, we will call the doctor and make an appointment first thing tomorrow morning to make sure that you're both okay. If you need to see a midwife we can have him arrange something for a hospital on Oahu and if he can't do that we will reschedule the flights."

She nodded weakly before leaning forward, drawing her knees into her chest. Her fingers found their way to her hair, pinning it behind her head as she sighed. Water still clung to blonde strands, but it was slowly drying, curling gently against the moisture. With a half-absent mind, Chris longed to reached forward and take a lock between his fingers. Even five months down the line, moments struck him when he still could not believe that she was back here, with him. Every tangible element to her fascinated him, and he longed to savour every little detail as he never had before her fall.

"So you want this child?" she asked softly, dropping her left arm as she turned to glance at him. "What the hell am I asking? Forget I said that."

And with a frustrated groan, she leaned back into the wall, resting her head on his bicep this time.

"What if it's negative?" she asked next. "I...I don't know which outcome I am more afraid of."

Chris swallowed, pulling her a little further into him as he considered his response.

"If it's negative...we will set a date for the wedding, and...wedding night, we will start trying for a positive."

Jill smiled, but her eyes were distant and the sigh that escaped alerted him to niggling doubts.

"What is it?" he encouraged.

She shifted uncomfortably, exhaled heavily.

"I'm almost thirty-five years old," she sighed. "The longer we wait, the more risks will be involved and the more difficult it will be to conceive in the first place. I'm just worried that we will wait too long...and then it will be too late."

Chris had realised this, and had worried over the same matter. But every time he considered bringing up the topic of children, his heart had warned him not to. He did not want to hurt her with his words.

"Well," he sighed. "We could postpone the wedding and start trying in...five minutes?"

Jill laughed softly, moved her head up to his shoulder. It had been her idea to postpone the wedding when news of their first pregnancy broke. While he believed that she would look radiant in a maternity wedding dress, she had not wanted anyone to believe that it was a shotgun wedding. They had planned to have the child, and to wait until they were settled as a family before they married - anywhere from six weeks to a year.

"And if you're really that worried, we will still call the doctor," he continued. "We can ask about options and...freeze some of the good stuff."

This time, her laughter was more pronounced. He knew that it was not as easy as he made it sound, that it was not a simply case of 'saving something for later'.

"I love how you can always make me laugh," she sighed wistfully with a broken smile. "You always could."

She laughed again, reaching for his hand.

"Now that I can think straight again...now that I feel like myself," she chuckled. "I can see how absurd this is. Think back to 1996 - would you have ever thought that we would be engaged, that we would be huddled round a pregnancy test and hoping for a positive result?"

Chris smiled as he thought back, realising that she was perhaps the last woman on the face of the planet he saw himself settling down with.

"If you had told me, I would have laughed in your face," she hypothesised. "But you are ten times the man I thought you were. I am so grateful for everything you have done for me."

He quashed a rising wave of pride, beating it back down with the knowledge that he deserved no reward or dose of smugness simply for being there for her. It came naturally to him, as it did in every relationship, every friendship. He had been raised to value and respect those he loved, to treat them with kindness and dignity no matter the situation.

"For what it's worth," he told her. "When I first fell for you, I thought that you were so out of my league there was no point in even entertaining the idea of asking you out. Well, that was after I judged you before I got to know you."

"Yeah, yeah," she laughed. "I came across as a bitch, I know that much."

"And then I swept you off your feet."

His narration set her off, and she collapsed against him in a fit of hysterics. Instinctively, he moved to grab her, careful that she did not tumble to the floor and... What exactly had he believed rolling to the floor would do to her? They did not even know if she was truly pregnant, and yet he was already treating her as though she were a fragile doll.

"You didn't sweep me off my feet," she grinned, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "You...crashed into me."

Chris smiled this time, feeling that the analogy fitted them perfectly. The blossoming of their feelings for one another had amounted to an emotional car wreck. It had been painful, difficult, and had never made sense.

"Babe, that's beautiful," he laughed sarcastically. "Remind me again why we are writing our own vows?"

She sat upright, turning towards him. Her face was alight with happiness, cheeks flushed from heavy laughter, lashes damp and lips clasped firmly together to suppress further peals. Simply seeing a smile on her face made him happy beyond expression. Though she had suffered through so much, he knew that luck was on their side for her to merely be able to find the strength to smile. Some days, he had felt that the notion of happiness after hell was absurd, but sitting here with her, laughing and hoping for a child, replaced all the faith he had lost over the years. Because he realised now that happiness came to no one; it was a man-made concept, and it was man who needed to turn the soil from which it would sprout.

"You are going to make an amazing father," she told him, smile widening. And his heart swelled, warmth washing through his veins. Those words would not have meant half as much from any other's lips.

Both minds raced back to the present, two hands reaching for the watch at his wrist. His large hand slid over her slim fingers, his lips twisting into a smile at the softness of her skin.

"It's time," he exhaled, finding that it was cold air that reached his lungs, threatening to freeze every organ.

Tentatively, Jill rose, walking slowly to where the four tests lay, eyes closed, a single hand reaching out. And then suddenly, she spun, a panicked expression evident as she covered her face with trembling hands.

"I can't do it," she whispered. "I can't look!"

When Chris rose, it was to take her hands in his, pulling them away from her frightened features. He had not seen such terror seize her in weeks, and he kissed her softly on the forehead, silently assuring her that he would take care of it.

He reached for the first test, took it carefully in his hand and with a fearful breath of his own, glanced down at the dial.

And his heart plummeted, devastation not quite describing the wreckage in his gut.

"What is it?" Jill demanded, paralysed by his expression. He did nothing but shake his head slowly, unable to meet her eyes.

She reached for him, tugging on his T-shirt to pull him into an embrace she seemed to convince herself was for his comfort alone. But he was numb, more disappointed by the result than he had expected to be. Hope of becoming a father, dashed once again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. He rubbed warmth into her back, prepared to catch her should she fall. But she didn't. She remained strong despite the tears he could feel soaking through his T-shirt.

'She had her heart set on positive,' he realised. 'She really wanted this.'

"Come on," he urged. "We'll call the doctor.

To his surprise, she refused, remained stubbornly still. And then she pulled back, flushed cheeks now blotchy, damp hair clinging to her skin.

"Five pills, Chris," she moaned. "Missing one is enough to allow conception. If I'm not pregnant...what if I never will be? I haven't had a period since June!"

His soul wandered back to a dreadful night in Texas, to the state she had been in when she discovered that she could never have children on account of the T-virus in her system. Her stubbornness had shone through that night, and he did not particularly want either of them to stumble through that tear-filled, angst-riddled mess again.

"You miscarried," he reminded her. "The doctor said it could take a while for your body to return to normal. It could have been days, or it could be months; it's different for everybody."

But she was not convinced, and leaned into him, stubbornly hiding her tears. Children were a wish they shared, and if her dismay was even half as potent as his then he knew that a thunderous cloud would hang above their vacation.

"Don't worry," he pleaded. "I want this, and I know you want this - let's just throw out the rest of your pills and go try now. I promise you, Jill, one day we'll get that second line."

And suddenly, her silent sobs ceased. Slowly, she raised her head, her expression empty.

"W-What did you say?" she stuttered. "Was there- Was there a line?"

"Just one," he frowned. Her hair was soft against his fingertips as he pushed it out of her eyes, her skin burning beneath his touch.

The corners of her lips twitched excitedly, long fingers gathering the fabric of his T-shirt into sweating hands.

"Chris, you are such a fucking idiot sometimes," she laughed. "Blank is negative...a line is positive."

He swallowed the concept, the possibility slowly trickling into his brain. Jill was three steps ahead of him as usual, reached for the instruction pamphlet and thrust it into his hands.

"See!" she gushed excitedly as she reached for the test herself. "Check it again! Check them both! The digital ones too."

Automatically, he reached down for all four tests. The answer was there, both in semaphore and plain English. His expression remained frozen, but a volcano of sparks erupted in his gut, fear and excitement overpowering his senses.

Jill waited patiently, chewed on her fingernails. With a dumbstruck smile, he whispered the answer to her.

"You're pregnant."

There was long moment of silence before she reacted, screaming as she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaping up into his arms. Their glee was foil to one another's emotions, and wave after wave bounced back until Chris was sure his cheeks would split from the force of his smile. Though they had sworn that they would take this one day at a time, he could not help but feel like a proud father already.

"I love you so much, you dumb bastard," she laughed. He had never heard so much happiness in her voice. "But don't ever scare me like that again!"

And he kissed her, holding her up as her thighs squeezed his waist, body pressing tightly against his. Neither could calm their smile, and the smile was brought to an abrupt end. But neither cared, both locking eyes, breathing heavily as they digested the news.

"We're going to have a _baby_," she smiled. "This time I'm sure."

And the strangest thing was…so was he.

**AN - Please review :).**


	10. The Family and The Forgotten

**AN** - I would have had this up sooner but Internet issues got in the way :(. Once again, this is more of a filler chapter; things should pick up a little next chapter.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed - _natza12345, Thaleron, Kenshin13, Skiptrix, Ceylon, Black Metalmark, Claire Redfield 86, tek, Ninja-Gnome, x-Artichoke-x _and _xSummonerYunax_. You all rock! Oh, and happy Halloween!

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Nine_**_ - The Family and The Forgotten_

_'The world of those who are happy is different from the world of those who are not.'_  
~Ludwig Wittgenstein~

**_October 14, 2009. 7:17pm. Burton residence. Arlington, VA._**

Rebecca carefully slid the cake onto a clean plate, careful not to smudge the chocolate icing with her fingers. How any of them would have room for cake after one of Barry's barbecues, she did not know, but Claire still thought it was a good idea to bring one.

She blamed Chris, knowing that while it was not entirely his fault, he was at least partially to blame. Jill too. Aside from a single meeting following their return from Hawaii, nobody had seen them since then. Three weeks communicating solely through phone calls, every invitation dodged until the monthly barbecue came around. It was obvious that they were avoiding the others; they had even given up the pretence of being busy, did not even try to hide the truth.

Whatever had happened, she found solace only in the fact that both sounded healthy and happy over the phone.

The blue Nova rolled up to the house, over forty-five minutes late. With a smile, Rebecca washed her hands, making for the door when she knew she was not in danger of smearing chocolate up the Burtons' white walls. She had almost given up on the couple attending.

They were all smiles when she opened the door to them, and her previous idea of feigning fury slipped away.

"Being early is a habit I really wish you hadn't dropped," she sighed.

"We're here now, aren't we?" Jill smiled as she closed the door behind her. "It's good to see you."

Though Rebecca reached for a hug, Jill moved instantly to remove her coat, essentially blocking the move. Chris simply smiled as he replaced the failed embrace with one of his own, ruffling her hair as he pulled away.

"Well, at least you're here," she blushed, attempting to fix her now-messy hair.

"Is everyone else here?" Jill asked. She rolled her coat over an arm, holding it in front of her. There was no attempt made to hang it by the door; did they not intend to stay?

"All except the girls; Moira is at college, Polly went to stay for a few days."

"Good," Jill grinned, glancing up at Chris. "Should we get this over with?"

Chris said nothing, simply laughed as he urged them both forward. Rebecca's suspicions were pricked, but she did not question their odd behaviour. It had been three years since she last spoke to the old Jill Valentine; she was simply not used to her personality. Regardless, it was good to have her back.

Claire was restrained in her greeting when they entered the living room, merely raising her glass with a smile. Leon's arm rested around her shoulders; as much as she had missed her brother, she was not pulling away.

"Finally!" Barry declared triumphantly. "Let's get this thing started."

The plates were already set out in the dining room. Enough buns to feed twice as many people were stacked high, various sauces set out amongst the cutlery. She had honestly not expected Barry to wait; he was always impatient when it came to food. And when Jill spoke up, she knew that it did not bode well for his hunger.

"Actually," she breathed. "We need to talk to you all first...we have an announcement to make."

Curiosity overcame each guest. Even Barry sat perfectly still, Kathy's hand moving to his shoulder.

"We're postponing the wedding," Chris revealed.

"Again?"

It was Claire's voice that reached them first, a general murmur of shock rippling through the small gathering. Rebecca frowned, concerned beyond her ability to comprehend. Ever since the beginning of her treatment, the wedding had been all that Jill spoke of. The excitement and delight with which she had described one venue she had taken a particular liking to was genuine and heartfelt. As soon as their engagement was announced, they had both declared that they would marry before their year's leave was over. With the year up in April, there was not much time left to plan and hold a wedding.

"Why?" Kathy asked. "Don't get me wrong, I will be happy for you whatever you choose, but...why now?"

Jill's lips twisted into a smile as her eyes met with Chris's, an unspoken secret acknowledged.

"Something came up," she spoke excitedly. "We're still getting married, but we thought it was best if we waited a while."

"Burton, you owe me fifty bucks," Leon reminded him, a scowl forming on the older man's features. The couple laughed, which immediately struck Rebecca as odd. Any mention of bets over their marriage would likely have earned at least a jibe of feigned irritation.

"Have some respect!" Claire hissed as she elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs before turning her attention back to her brother, wearing an expression of utter disappointment. "Is everything okay?"

Rebecca could see where her worry stemmed from; after Jill's ordeal, every health issue frightened them all.

"Actually, yes," Chris grinned. "Everything's great, everything's- She's pregnant."

Jill balked as the others fell into silence. Even Rebecca paused, thoughts racing.

"I was supposed to tell them!" Jill hissed.

"Sorry," laughed Chris.

"What?" Claire demanded, suspended in disbelief. Each pair of eyes looked to the couple, seeking confirmation. Was it possible they had misheard? Or was this a joke?

"We're having a baby," Jill smiled, apparently dropping her irritation towards Chris as she moved an arm to his back, leaning gently into him after she tossed her coat aside.

As a wave of joy broke, Rebecca was the first to their side, her congratulations lost in those that surrounded them. But Jill let her in for an embrace this time, gripped her excitedly as words of joy were whispered into her ear. And it was evident why she had rejected her advance at the door, why she had held her coat to her body; Rebecca could feel her small bump against her as they hugged, pulled back in surprise.

"What the-" she gasped, grinning from ear to ear. "How far along _are_ you?"

"Fifteen weeks," Jill smiled, raising her voice so that all could hear. "We found out just before we went on holiday. I thought I'd just put on a little weight and, well I work out so it wasn't noticeable back then. But I haven't stopped growing since then."

"I'm going to be an Aunt!" Claire's voice cut through as she appeared at Jill's side, arm around her shoulders. "This is...unbelievable! Do you know what you're having yet?"

"A baby, we hope," Chris laughed behind her, neglecting his conversation with Barry for a moment. Claire rolled her eyes, too ecstatic to hurl an insult his way.

"Fifteen weeks," she was reminded by Jill. "So not yet. We were going to wait until we knew before we told everyone but we missed you - we were tired of hiding."

She met Rebecca's eyes, and understanding passed between them. She knew the true reason for hiding the pregnancy; they had been afraid of another miscarriage and did not want to announce anything until they were sure that the baby was here to stay. And the pride in Jill's eyes told her just how much this meant to her. After everything she had been through, she deserved this...they both did.

"This is great!" Claire laughed. "We need to go shopping - I love shopping for baby stuff and it's been so long since one of our cousins popped one out."

"I think we need to shop for me first," sighed Jill. "I'm outgrowing most of my clothes. I'm in maternity jeans now."

Chris slipped his hand between his sister and his fiancée, resting his hand against the swell of Jill's abdomen as he stepped behind her.

"Yes," he interrupted. "Please take her so I don't have to."

Jill elbowed him lightly, but the smile did not fade from her lips.

"I think Barry has started," Claire muttered quietly to Rebecca. "Let's..."

She cocked her head towards the door, but it was Chris who followed her, leaving Jill behind.

Rebecca touched her arm as she made to follow, sliding her hand down to her friend's. Her skin was darker now, healthier. She barely recognised her from the frail, white doll Chris had brought back from Africa. The change was astounding, and they were all glad that after three years of disruption, life was finally winding back to normal. She concluded that it would be nice to introduce a child to the group; there was little doubt that it would be spoiled rotten. There was a lot of love to go round, and Rebecca was sure that it would all be directed towards the child they never thought would walk amongst them.

"How are you doing?" she asked. Jill's smile widened, and she gripped her friend's hand tightly.

"A lot better than I thought I would," she laughed softly. "The baby is healthy, that's all I could ask for."

Rebecca nodded in recognition. In the wake of her miscarriage, Jill had spoken of the midwife's worry weeks before the tragedy occurred. The foetus had been small for its age, the heart rate a little too slow. She had thought that she should have taken these warning signs as precursors to the inevitable, and felt worse for the fact that she had not.

"If you need any help, just ask," she offered. "I know a lot of people at the hospital; if you need to see someone I can help you cut the queues."

Jill smiled appreciatively.

"Thank you," she whispered. And then she looked over her shoulder, caught a glimpse of the others out in the back garden. "I suppose there is no harm in telling you now. We want you to be godmother."

Rebecca's eyes widened at the request, heart somersaulting in her chest. After all the thoughts of children of her own, it thrilled her that Jill trusted her enough to ask such a thing. While she was already godmother to Mia Connolly, Jill had been her friend far longer than Mia's father...no request could have meant more to her.

"I would be honoured," she gushed as she fought back tears of joy. And she pulled Jill into another embrace, squeezing her harder this time.

"We're going to ask Claire too, but please don't tell her. She needs to adjust to the idea of being an aunt first; you know how excitable she gets."

* * *

**_October 14, 2009. 7:30pm. Richmond, VA._**

Lou. He considered the name as he checked his surroundings, proceeding towards the target building as soon as he ascertained that he was not being followed. He quite liked the name; it was far better than what he had gone for in recent years. His old name was of no consequence. Truth be told, he could barely remember it anymore. Maybe it was time for the change to be legal?

'If you do that, you will be resigning yourself to this life,' he reminded himself. And he sighed.

This had always been temporary, yet he could not even count the years since he had walked away from what had been a damn good life. No friends, no attachments; the way it had always been. Women came and went, never wanted to stay. What man would not enjoy what he had?

He pulled his jacket tighter around him, shielding his body from the icy breeze. Why was it so cold tonight? More to the point, why were there no damn streetlights lighting his path? Sparks flew from one, the others showing no signs of life. It was not an area of town he frequently found himself walking through, but it was safer for Eric here. The crack heads were no trouble, the dealers quite friendly if you were polite. Compared to Tricell, they posed no threat.

But still, he felt that it would be better if Eric remained at his apartment for the night. Better in that his appointment with whatever agent the government had handed interviewing duties to was at ten am and he really did not want to have to wake half an hour early simply to pick his client up. He was surprised that the government even shown an interest in the case. In all honesty, he had thought that they would have to resort to the media. It was all thanks to his contact, a simple office grunt who had successfully brought their case to the attention of those who mattered.

Eric's apartment building was deserted, as it always was this time of night. The occupants were either in bed or out drinking, and there was no concierge.

The elevator stank of sweat and urine, so he opted for the stairs, wishing that he had chosen something a little warmer than a simple T-shirt to wear beneath his jacket; there was no heating in the stairwell and somehow a draft swirled around him.

'Should have brought your gun,' he told himself, pushing on the door to the third floor.

The hallways were clean, respectable in comparison with the lobby. But with no lock on the door, what had he expected? It was home to the homeless, and to drunks who could not find their way home.

Eric's apartment was three doors from the end of the East hallway, and Lou moved quickly and quietly. Loud music blasted from a nearby apartment and he picked up his pace, rushing to the correct door. It was open when he pushed, scraping against the carpet. He made a mental note to warn his client; he may have been expecting him but anyone could have walked in.

The lights were out, and his foot squelched in some unseen substance. An indiscernible stench hung on the air, the bulb unresponsive as he flicked the light switch.

"Eric?" he called. He knew that he was coming, would not have left. The poor guy was neurotic; he had probably spent the last few weeks huddled beneath his desk.

Lou strode over to the window, flung back the curtain. The bass that echoed through the walls altered the beat of his heart.

Moonlight illuminated the apartment; just enough to reflect off the screen of the television. Streaks were dulled against its surface, and the carpet squelched again as he moved to investigate it. Eric's form was visible on a dining chair, facing the television. He did not move, did not respond to Lou's calls.

"Hey!"

He placed a hand on his damp shoulder, and Eric's head rocked lifelessly. Blood dripped onto Lou's sneakers, ran down Eric's smooth chin. Skin peeled in chunks from his bare arms, seeped from a contusion beyond his hairline. Lou did not need to check for a pulse to know that the man was dead.

He did not hear the footsteps behind him, did not feel the arm around his neck until a cloth pressed to his face, the stench of chloroform overpowering.

And then, darkness swallowed the moonlight.

* * *

**_October 14, 2009. 7:45pm. Burton residence. Arlington, VA._**

Claire found her brother in the kitchen, popping open yet another beer. She was surprised at how little insistence it had taken on Jill's behalf before he accepted that being fifteen weeks pregnant did not mean that she was incapable of driving. His protectiveness was endearing, but not so much when she had attempted to pull her future sister-in-law aside for a chat. She had experience less difficulty breaking into Umbrella's Paris HQ.

"You want one?" Chris offered.

"After all that chocolate cake? I doubt it would be pretty."

He smiled and made to walk past her but she caught him, wrapping her arms around his torso, making sure that he couldn't leave. He froze unexpectedly, arms raised.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. She did not truly know. These days they only ever hugged if one or the other was upset, and this had been perhaps the happiest night they had seen in a long time.

"I'm so happy for you," she gushed. Chris paused before he lowered his arms, finally returning her embrace.

"I suppose I can give you that," he smirked.

And his smile somehow widened hers, his arms reminding her of a time when family was all they knew; a simpler time, one that her niece or nephew promised to return them to. She also realised just how good his hugs were. His large arms were comforting, his warmth soothing. A far cry from the scrawny pre-teen he had been, years before he had stumbled across their father's weights and decided to try them out.

"I never thought I could be this happy, Claire," he sighed. "After everything..."

He pulled her in tighter for a moment before letting her go and beckoning for her to follow him to the family room, where he peered through the window and into the garden.

"Look at her!" he grinned. "Do you see how happy she is?"

Claire found it difficult to suppress laughter, and a short burst of giggles turned Chris's attention back to her, the realisation of how he had been acting slowly sinking in. Trust him to think of his fiancée before himself.

She was glad that Jill had Chris in her life. She would never have expected him to be so caring and attentive where a love interest was concerned, but she could tell from the way he looked at Jill that he had never cared about anyone as much as he cared for her. It was not easy for Claire to accept that she was no longer his number one girl, but she was now happy to hand over that title.

"You are going to be an incredible father," she smiled. "You were a pretty damn good surrogate father to me; this should be easy in comparison."

Chris looked away as the compliment set in and she could tell that he suppressed a grin. But his eyes were on Jill, laughing with Kathy.

He had been a good surrogate to so many of them. During the early days of the fight against Umbrella, both she and Rebecca had felt so lost, but he would sit with them into the early hours, simply playing cards - or cheating at cards as Rebecca had always called it - or talking through their fears. While part of her believed that it had simply been a way to avoid Jill while he came to terms with their complex relationship, she knew in her heart that he had cared for every member of their group and would do anything to make them feel at ease. Even little Gabriella Romero had taken to him, bullying him into Spanish lessons and roping him into games of hide and seek. With her mother often buried away in a lab, analysing stolen samples, most of the time she did not have anyone else to turn to when she became scared. But he was always there when she needed someone to tease.

And then she remembered how Jill had been with the little girl. Always patient, always thoughtful. When her mother worked late into the night, Gabriella could never sleep and so Jill would let her crawl into her bed, always welcoming despite the girl's unpredictable sleep pattern. Claire had always thought it a shame that she may never have the opportunity to become a mother, but now that reality was realised, she was grateful beyond words.

"What are you hoping for?" she enquired.

Chris smiled, evidently having considered this some time ago.

"A girl," he sighed. "Isn't that strange? All my life I thought how great it would be to have a son I could teach sports to and watch games with. But now that I'm going to be a father, I actually want a little girl."

As he sank onto the sofa, Claire joined him, sighing as she did so.

"A daddy's girl, huh?" she chuckled. "She'll be hot, you know that, right? All the girls in our family have the beauty gene. The boys...not so much."

He raised an eyebrow at this and she laughed harder.

"Twisting your face isn't going to make you any prettier," she teased. "But Jill's dad is kind of hot, so-"

"He's fifty-eight years old," he reminded her. "And a felon, and- Actually, come to think of it, he's exactly your type!"

She elbowed him, then raised a hand to smack him upside the head.

"If we're talking of types, Jill will actually be yours soon," she sneered. "She's blonde and those breasts are only gonna get bigger."

She immediately regretted mentioning such a fact when Chris began to drift into a daydream. As a precaution, she shoved him, proclaiming that he was a sick bastard. But she smiled, knowing that she would have preferred this moment to any that had preceded Jill's return. He was happier with her, as Claire was with Leon, and in the end this was all that truly mattered. After all, Leon was not her type and yet she had fallen hopelessly in love with him.

But something worried Claire, and the niggling concern only intensified as she attempted to ignore it.

"Hey Chris," she exhaled. "Do you...do you know any teenage girls?"

Chris thought for a moment before shaking his head.

"You were the last teenage girl I knew," he replied. "And hopefully my daughter will be the next."

Though she smiled at this, she did not feel the emotion. She had searched through her photograph albums, trying to find the girl who had claimed to know her. Her first thought had been that she was a family friend, but a quick call round her aunts and uncles had turned up nothing. Even her extended family claimed ignorance.

"Why?"

Claire shrugged, knowing that it would do no good to worry him at a time that should be nothing but joyous.

"No reason," she sighed.

* * *

**_October 14, 2009. 10:03pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Though Jill flicked through the pages of an unfamiliar Kathy Reichs novel, she barely paid attention to the words on the page. But still, she dared not lower the book; if she did, she feared that Chris would stop, and he was proving far more entertaining than the exploits of Dr. Brennan.

A short conversation about her pregnancy and the scan she had scheduled for the following day had led to him simply stroking her bump, though it appeared a lot smaller as she lay on her back. Both were surprised at how much she had grown, had initially believed she was carrying twins until their first scan had shown only one foetus. Stroking had led to talking, first to her and then to her bump. She doubted that he had noticed her retrieve her book from the bedside table.

"So what do you think we're having?" he asked, and she was sure this time that he addressed her. "Boy, girl?"

Jill placed her bookmark between the pages and moved the novel back to the bedside table.

"I don't know," she sighed as her fingers found their way to his hair. She had thought about the gender quite often, though she could not reach a decision on which she would prefer. A child was a child, and she was happy simply that they were having one.

Chris hummed and pressed his lips to the top of her bump. He caught her arm next, kissing the inside of her wrist, all the way up to her shoulder as her hand moved to his neck. He pressed kisses to her temple, down to her cheek, along her jaw. And as his lips found her neck, suckled gently on the skin, she caught on to his intentions. The hand that wandered away from the bump to explore her body only reinforced this point.

"Stop," she groaned. "Not tonight, I'm not in the mood."

"Come on," he laughed into her skin, fingertips trailing across her breast. "I'll do all the work."

She rolled her eyes. That was never the case. All he had to do was kiss her, touch her in that certain way and she would fold to him.

"Chris, we have an appointment in the morning," she sighed. "I need to sleep and I don't want to disturb the baby."

Chris laughed at this, nuzzling her cheek.

"I'm serious," Jill laughed softly. "I'm not the only one who feels what you do to me. So give it up or sort yourself out."

He sighed and pulled back, finally realising that he was getting nowhere.

"I thought the drought wasn't supposed to set in until _after_ you got married," he complained to no one in particular.

Jill could not quite believe what she was hearing, and spluttered in amazement as she turned to him.

"_Drought_?" she laughed. "Chris, baby, we made love this morning...and yesterday_...twice_! I think it's safe for us to take the night off."

With a huff of agreement, he crawled beneath the sheets, turning away from her as she followed. She knew that he was not truly upset, but was merely making a scene for the sake of it. Biting her lip to hold back laughter, she wrapped her arms around him, kissing his neck before settling to sleep with her head curled into his back. His hands found hers, fingers intertwining.

"Don't let go," he whispered as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand. And she squeezed him a little tighter as she smiled into his warmth.

Almost immediately, her thoughts began to drift. It felt odd to her to be forced to consider another with every step that she took. She had always done her own thing, but now she found herself carefully considering every major action, every meal.

Was she still worried of miscarrying? Yes, she was, and she knew that she would be until the moment the child's chances of survival stepped over sixty percent. And though her emotional issues were behind her for the most part, she still feared what the future held.

She reacted quickly when Chris moved, rolling towards her, onto his back. And he looked to her, concern etched upon his features.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She was startled by his sudden worry, but accepted the hand that found hers once more as he moved again, onto his side this time, facing her.

"You were holding your breath," he explained with a smile. "When you're breathing on my back it's not too hard to tell."

'Oh,' she realised. But she took the opportunity to move into him, finding a position she knew would coax him into remaining in his.

"Tell me," he urged.

Jill drew a deep breath. She knew that the details were best kept secret, but they had promised full disclosure. He had always kept his end of the deal, even when she wished he had not; she owed him the truth.

"Are you not worried?" she asked. "About this...about everything?"

Thankfully, she did not need to elaborate. He understood, perfectly. But his response astounded her, more so by the casual nature with which he voiced his feelings.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

Beyond those blue eyes, she saw that all he spoke was the truth.

"I worked out the dates," she breathed. "It couldn't have been much more than a month after the miscarriage that I conceived this child."

"Two weeks," he reminded her. "Two weeks and they confirmed that the P30 was gone."

She knew this, but the fear remained. It was the fact that she had faced it before; she was more afraid of not accepting the possibility than she was of it occurring. At least she would be somewhat prepared this time, at least it would have been expected on some level.

"But I understand," Chris grimaced. "And I know how scared you must be. But Jill, we are going to have this baby. I promise you."

Chris Redfield did not throw his promises around, and though she knew that he was making one that he had no control over, she accepted the gesture and felt better for it.

But there was still doubt, this time over her own sanity. She had never expected it to slip away from her so easily, and though her grip was tighter, she knew now how fragile the mind was, how easily it could shatter.

"I had a nightmare last night," she admitted. "And...he was there."

Chris tensed from the implication. Even dead and buried, Wesker still stirred torrents of rage within him.

"It's okay," she laughed quietly. Fatigue swept over her at this point, the cool press of the pillow to her cheek beckoning sleep. "I know that I can't just walk away from what he did to me. But it has made me appreciate what I have here. I know that I took you, and everyone else, for granted in the past, but I swear I will never do that again."

She sensed Chris's smile and pressed her lips this time to his chest. Because the truth of the matter was that she could not imagine how her life would have been had she not saved Chris's life that night. Wesker would never have permitted her to live, and she would have died with guilt that would haunt her far into the afterlife. As long as Chris remained alive, she would give anything and everything to ensure that he remained so.

"I love you," he sighed, the desperate need for sleep fracturing his voice. "We took each other for granted...but now we know better."

She felt his breath skim along the top of her head and drew closer still into him. It occurred to her that as the pregnancy progressed, it would become more and more difficult for him to hold her like this. But it only made her more desperate to enjoy such a simple pleasure while it was still possible.

"Chris," she whispered.

"Sleeping."

The smile tore at her cheeks, and his arms tightened around her. As her eyelids swooped shut, she hoped only for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**_October 15, 2009. 9:01am. Trinity Apartments. Richmond, VA._**

Leon was dismayed to find that it was easier than expected to gain access to the crime scene. Apparently, a suit was all that was needed to pass freely.

The briefing had been rushed; a few words spoken down the telephone after a rude rousing. He thought it lucky that he had decided to sleep at Claire's apartment the night before, shaving valuable minutes off his journey. Richmond was his intended destination, having been handed the task of interviewing an ex-employee of a GPC-registered company. The name of the company had been withheld by the interviewee; the only information they had at hand was the assurance of illegal activities within this particular corporation. Leon was dismayed with the ignorance of his office and that of every other authority that had apparently turned this man away. Disgruntled employees were forever approaching the authorities with claims of illegal research, hoping to receive some sort of settlement in exchange for silence. Where most companies would have paid up simply to avoid the lengthy and costly legal proceedings, they did not take the chance these days. If there was so much as a mention of dodgy dealings, they would pour all available funds into disproving the claims. In the many years he had dealt with such cases, Leon had not stumbled across a single claim with so much as an ounce of credibility.

But this time, something felt different. And now the so-called informant was dead.

The scene was a bloodbath; walls stained, carpet saturated. Truly, he had never believed that one body could hold so much blood. The victim had already been zipped into a bag and lifted onto a stretcher awaiting transportation.

"Agent Kennedy?"

He turned, facing who he assumed to be the officer in charge; a stocky man, bearded with an air of exhaustion about him.

"Officer Dixon?"

The officer nodded, frowning slightly. The presence of a government agent could not have gone over well with local authorities; they did not like to believe that they were being kept in the dark.

"What happened here?" he asked. "Who found the victim?"

"Annette Landers," the officer revealed. "Lives in 304, just across the hall. Around seven am, she left her apartment and noticed that the door was ajar. Stepped inside and...well, she found this. We've taken her down to the station but it's going to be a while before we get anything substantial out of her; understandably, she's pretty shaken up."

Leon scanned the room slowly. The bureau was upturned, empty but trashed. Stuffing had been ripped from sofa cushions, patches of carpet torn up. A classic burglary scene. But everything was empty, save for a discarded suitcase in the corner, several items of clothing scattered across the floor.

"Strange," he commented. "The burglary could be orchestrated to cover up murder, but it's obvious from just a moment in this place that it's empty. If it's not a ruse, why did they keep searching?"

In such scenarios, he had never seen the carpet ripped up, the back removed from the television. Even the lining had been cut away from his suitcase, fragments of floorboards absent, revealing nothing but pipes and wiring. Someone was looking for something; this was far too much effort for a cover-up.

He followed the officer to the body, glancing down at the pale face that was revealed a moment later. Bloody, skull caved in at one side. He reached to unzip the bag further, revealing deep welts down the man's arm, injuries congruent with assault on all major joints.

"He was tortured," he acknowledged. "Death likely caused by trauma to the brain-"

"Our medical guy thinks death could be accidental," the officer explained. "The assailant could have gotten a little overzealous with the beating."

'They were looking for something,' Leon confirmed. 'Whatever it was, it was valuable.'

Officer Dixon glanced over his shoulder, waving forward the coroner.

"Seems accidental to us," he explained. "Whatever your reasons for being here may be. This ain't exactly a luxurious neighbourhood. We've had break-ins before, some end just like this. You know the guy?"

"Eric Dent," Leon explained with a sigh. "He was a witness; I was due to question him in an hour."

The officer chuckled, which Leon knew was in bad taste.

"Ain't gonna happen now," he pointed out.

Though suspicion remained, Leon knew that nothing could be done. His gut feeling amounted to nothing, and all evidence pointed to a break-in gone horribly wrong. Although it was convenient in a most suspicious manner that his witness met an unfortunate end mere hours before he was due to be questioned, he knew that the emptiness of the apartment worked against them also. It was entirely possible that upon realising that the apartment contained no valuables, the perpetrators had tortured the occupant into revealing possible hidden items or even credit card details.

Rope that had doubtlessly bound Eric's wrists was placed carefully into a clear plastic bag, forensic officers milling around him. But the pattern of blood around the central chair drew his attention and he lowered himself to his haunches, scrutinising the detail.

"You see something?" Officer Dixon asked.

Leon pointed to a smudge that drew outwards from the chair, swivelled to follow the twisted fibres of the carpet to the doorway.

"Was there a second victim?" he asked.

The officer shook his head, but bent down to further investigate.

"Someone was dragged," Leon explained. "After the blood was spilled. See this? And here...it looks as though they struggled for a while. Possible kidnap?"

"I can check surveillance cameras," Officer Dixon offered. "Can't promise they haven't been tampered with, but it's worth checking out. We're still questioning the neighbours. I'll keep an eye on any missing persons reports filed within the next few days, see if there are any connections."

Leon frowned at the stain on the carpet, unease settling into his bones. The cases with which he dealt varied greatly, and though many agents found it an insult to be handed such a task, he understood just how important interviewing this man was. It was evident that someone had wanted to silence him.

But what bothered Leon the most was the raid, the trashed apartment. Whatever they had been looking for, they evidently had not found.

The evidence could still be out there. It was simply a case of finding it.

* * *

**_October 15, 2009. 10:45am. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Chris was lost to the sound of the heartbeat, knew from the warm touch of Jill's strong hand that she too was suspended in a state of numb bliss. There was no shape to make out against background noise this time, the 3D scan clearly depicting the baby. The minutes dragged, and neither could tear their eyes away from the screen.

The midwife would pause occasionally to jot down quick notes, tapping buttons on the edge of their perception.

"They're big," Jill noted with a smile, her hushed whisper barely audible above the heartbeat.

Despite her confidence, he could feel a slight tremor to her touch, noticed the determination in her eyes, how they took in every detail of the small form, analysing it in her mind. She was worried still, he could tell. He kissed her temple in the only move of reassurance he found appropriate in that moment, urging her to relax into the arm he had placed around her shoulder. She barely reacted, still lost in the moment of witnessing their unborn child for the first time.

"So," the midwife spoke through a smile. "I assume you have been feeling a little more energetic lately?"

Jill acknowledged this and Chris laughed softly. She had lacked energy in the weeks surrounding the discovery of her pregnancy, but lately things had picked up.

"I'm not feeling as nauseous any more," she answered. "It seems strange, but I haven't felt this good in months."

The midwife laughed, meeting Jill's eyes for a moment before they flitted back to the screen.

"That is a good sign, and you are lucky," she explained. "A lot of women experience morning sickness some way into the second trimester. Don't expect this calm to last, though. Just make the most of it while it's here; perhaps start on a nursery, shop."

Jill looked to Chris with nervous eyes, a false smile twisting her lips. He wanted to tell her not to worry, but knew that it would do no good.

"Did you want to know the gender?"

Both sets of eyes snapped back to the midwife.

"You can tell?"

"So soon?"

Momentary laughter drifted between them, Chris's outburst a mere second behind Jill's.

"When - or even _if_ - we can tell depends on the position of the foetus," the midwife told them. "3D scans make it a little easier to tell too. This little one is - oh yes, definitely - she's not modest."

And with a single word, Chris felt every hope instantly realised. She?

"She?" Jill gasped. "It's a _girl_?"

He squeezed her hand, listening to the tone of her voice. He sensed joy, but in a restrained manner; he felt in his heart that she was as happy as he, had perhaps be hoping for the same answer.

"Yes," the midwife confirmed. "We will confirm the gender at your next scan, but I think I can say with confidence that we have a little girl here."

'A daughter,' whispered a voice in the back of Chris's mind. 'You're going to have a daughter!'

Without thinking, he held Jill closer and she caught his lips as she turned to face him, joy radiating through her smile.

"A girl," she gushed, speaking between short kisses. "We're having a baby girl!"

It was then that her smile began to wane and her eyes became lost, breath held in her throat. Gripping his hand, she turned to the midwife.

"Is she okay?" she asked. Chris listened intently for the answer, Jill's worry proving contagious.

The midwife smiled reassuringly, rounding off her notes with one hand still stretched towards Jill.

"She looks very well," she answered. "Perfect size, strong heartbeat. The placental blood flow is looking good and you seem to be in good health. No problems here."

Chris felt the woman in his arms relax, felt her rest her head against him as his own worries ebbed away. There could have been no better news.

"I'm not going to recommend anything at this point," the midwife continued. "Just keep doing what you have been doing – eat healthily, gentle exercise. If you wanted to have amniocentesis done, now would be a good time."

Jill accepted the paper towels that were handed to her and quickly wiped the gel from her abdomen. They had discussed amniocentesis, and Jill had been all for it until she discovered that it may very slightly increase the chances of miscarriage. It was a small risk, but one she was not willing to take.

"I don't think we're going to go for that," she revealed, looking to Chris for confirmation. It was a habit she had picked up since her return, as though she did not trust herself to do the right thing.

"That's fine," the midwife acknowledged. "To be perfectly honest, I wouldn't recommend one for you. Age aside, you are both perfectly healthy and there is no cause for concern."

Chris felt the smile that came to her lips at this assurance. And a weight was lifted from his own shoulders. Protectiveness towards his unborn had already set in, and anxiety that had gripped him since the discovery seemed to fade as he gazed at the image frozen on the screen.

"I'll print off a copy of the image for you," the midwife informed them. "I will also give you my direct line number, now that I will be looking after you until the birth. Given your previous miscarriage, I want you to call if you have any doubts about the way you feel, even if they seem absurd. If you experience any pain or discomfort that is out of the ordinary, I want you to go straight to the emergency department. If you call ahead I'll have you rushed straight through to obstetrics on arrival."

Chris caught Jill as she hopped off the table, her hands at the crook of his elbows. They did not leave when she was steady, and neither did the unease in her expression.

Suspended in his own sense of joy, he found it difficult to empathise with her, though he knew that he should. He had barely succeeded in suppressing his joy over being a father; now that he knew she was carrying a girl, all hope of restraint flew out of the window.

"Stop worrying," he urged.

Laughter escaped her lips as she trailed her fingertips over his skin, feeling the curve of his bicep, the warmth of his muscle.

"I know that I should be happy," she sighed. "But if I am, it's with bated breath."

There was no response to this but a smile, and she caught it in her sight, hers more genuine when it shone through. She may have been hiding her glee, but he was perhaps the one person she could never hide happiness from.

"It's a girl," he whispered against her hair when he pulled her to him, a smile splitting his cheeks. "A girl!"

And she let go, laughed freely when worry sulked away.

Because the swell of her abdomen taught them that anything was possible, and they knew that they could only take this one day at a time. Chris had given up pessimism, choosing instead to cling to something more positive.

And he held hope in his heart that she would do the same.

**AN - Please review :)**


	11. The Devil in the Detail

**AN - **I feel that I should mention now that there will be several time jumps over the next few chapters. Just in case anyone became confused ^_^. Jill's section at the end came out a little differently than what I envisioned but I like how it came out, hopefully you will too ^_^. We're pretty much getting back into the swing of things after Jill's recovery so forgive me if this chapter is a little dull; it's not really a filler, but it does set a scene. And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Claire and Leon, or the girl from the park -_^.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and left their thoughts: _.-SnipingWolf, Black Metalmark, Ceylon, Thaleron, 86, Kenshin13, x-Artichoke-x, tek, Ninja-Gnome, Afro Spirit, Ryoko Metallium, xSummonerYunax_ and _Maiafay_.

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Ten -_**_The Devil in the Detail_

_'Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness,  
and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.  
It is far better to take things as they come along with patience and equanimity.'  
_~Carl Jung~

**_November 14, 2009. 12:05pm. Arlington, VA._**

Jill watched Rebecca from across the store, smiling as she rummaged through a pile of soft toys

Glancing down at the screen of her phone, she smiled as she tapped a message onto the screen.

_Leave me alone, I'm having fun!_

With a few kisses for good measure, she tapped send and switched the device to silent. Though she did enjoy talking to Chris, remaining cooped up in the house with him had slowly begun to drive her insane. This shopping trip was intended as a break of sorts, and his commentary on how the painting of the nursery was progressing broke many unwritten rules.

The painting itself had been labelled premature by her own thoughts, but Chris had wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible. The walls were to be a light shade of pastel pink, broken up by stencils of pastel butterflies their artistic neighbour had offered to paint along the top of the wall.

Chris had already begun to throw names her way, had even coaxed a few out of her, but none had stuck. Rather than grow to love a name, she wanted something that sounded perfect from the first utterance, something that reflected all that their daughter meant to them and more. She did not believe that names were chosen; more that they found those with the authority to place them.

She turned her attention to the pink swaddling blanket in her hands. She had already purchased a white blanket, before the gender of the baby had been known and confirmed. Chris remained oblivious, believing that she had bought it on a shopping trip the previous week. But she had felt the need to buy something despite the fear, desperate for something to assure her that she was pregnant; something to cling to.

She dropped it into the basket that hung from her arm, adding it to the collection of creams, sheets for the nursery and enough baby-proofing materials to bring anyone to believe that she was paranoid. And then there was the bunny. It was soft, safe from birth and she had fallen in love with it at first sight. The bear would always belong to her first child, she knew that, and so she had subconsciously searched for a gift for her daughter, the rabbit refusing to leave her mind.

"Hey, have you seen this?" Rebecca smirked as she appeared beside her, scanning the back of a small box. "I think it tells you when you're in labour."

Jill smirked too, rolling her eyes at the absurdity.

"I think the pain and the breaking waters are enough to go by," she laughed.

'Pain.'

She shuddered at the thought, turning away before it hit her. Over the years, she had developed a high tolerance of pain. Torture, injuries gained in the line of duty and simple clumsiness had been enough, but after spending two and a half years in Wesker's cruel hands, she faced discomfort with the knowledge that whatever happened to her, she had faced far worse.

But that was not to say that she enjoyed pain. It terrified her to consider how weak she would be in childbirth; weakness was what she hated. She hated the thought that anything could happen and she would be powerless to stop it. Of course Chris would be there, he always would, but she despised feeling that she needed to rely on him.

"Okay, I'm getting these pyjamas," Rebecca announced. "Just let me put this...whatever this is...back and I'll be with you."

She waved the pink newborn pyjamas before slinking off, smile still plastered firmly on her features.

Jill's cell buzzed again in her pocket and she rolled her eyes, knowing that she should have turned it off completely.

_All you had to do was ask :). Love you. xxx_

Her fingers hovered to reply, but she knew it would only end in a barrage of texts between them both. So she dropped the phone into her purse as she reached the checkout.

"First child?" the cashier asked with a smile.

"Is it that obvious?" Jill blushed.

The cashier laughed as she scanned the rabbit.

"First time mothers always buy everything," she laughed.

Jill's blush deepened as she took in the full extent of her purchases. She was sure that they did not even need half of them.

'It's better to be safe than sorry,' she reminded herself.

"That will be seventy-four ninety-seven."

Jill blinked, surprised that it had not amounted to twice as much. But she pulled her card out anyway, and handed it over with a smile. Rebecca remained with the baby clothes, evidently having found more gifts. With a smile, Jill noted that she should perhaps warn the others not to buy so many presents; she and Chris would soon run out of things to buy themselves.

With a glance towards the store window, she looked out to the food court in the distance. Familiar pangs of hunger shot across her stomach. It seemed that she was always starving these days, always craving foods that were no good for her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a familiar figure. A Caucasian man, dressed smartly in a suit and tie. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the three other times she had seen him today. His eyes were hidden behind dark shades, but she could feel them boring into her. He did not move, simply watched, waited.

"Miss Redfield? Ma'am?"

Her attention snapped suddenly back to the cashier, startled by the misplacement of her fiancé's name. But as she took the card she realised that it was not hers. Chris's name was legible on the bottom, clear as day.

'He switched our cards,' she realised after confusion faded. Sure enough, her own was nowhere to be found.

Amusement mingled with anger; he was forever offering her money, even though his own funds were not much more lucrative than her own. She guessed that it was the years without her that brought him to want to treat her at every available opportunity. Suddenly, the bags slung over one arm seemed heavier as she considered how much she had charged to the card already.

But all thought of raising hell fell from mind as she turned back to the window. The stranger remained, unmoving.

Chills crept down her spine as she made her way towards Rebecca, a hand falling instinctively to her bump in a protective manner.

"Becky," she called in a hushed voice. "Becky, I think someone is following us."

Rebecca turned suddenly, placing the pyjamas back on the display she had been perusing.

"Over there," Jill urged, turning to point out the stranger.

But he was gone.

"Jill, there's nobody there."

She stared for a long moment, scouring the food court. There was no man, no sign that he had ever stood there.

"Shit," she swore beneath her breath. And then, louder: "There was someone there, I swear it!"

Taking her hand, Rebecca led her out of the store, keeping close to the door as she scanned the area, searching for something out of the ordinary. But only shoppers filled the mall, all minding their own business. After a moment's pause, she turned back to Jill, her expression turning to one of concern.

"Jill, there's no one there."

The hesitation in her voice did not go undetected, and the absurdity of the claims suddenly sank in.

Jill turned, casting one last look around the surrounding area, and reeled as shame sank in. She scoured her mind for reason, but found none. And with a growing sense of weariness, she sighed, and turned back to her friend.

"Forget about it. Let's just go."

* * *

**_November 14, 2009. 12:50pm. Arlington, VA._**

"You know, helping implies that you are actually doing something in the first place," Leon groaned as he lifted the last bucket of paint into the back of his car.

Chris sensed that his helped stemmed solely out of boredom; he knew for a fact that the younger man hated decorating.

But he was clean out of gratitude, every fibre of emotion within him distracted by the series of text messages that flashed up on the screen of his cell.

_'Get your lazy ass upstairs and stop messing around!'_ read the first message, sent from Jill's cell. '_Come up, I have something to show you :). J x.'_

_Chris? Is that you?  
J x_

_Okay seriously, stop messing around._

_Where are you?_

The last message was sent only two minutes ago. She had not yet returned home when he and Leon had left, and no other possessed a key.

His ringtone blared suddenly and the cell almost vibrated out of his grasp. But he caught it, held it to his ear when her name flashed upon the screen.

"Jill," he spoke quietly. "Are you-"

"Where are you?" she demanded, her voice hushed and frantic.

Desperate worry seized him, Leon catching on to the sudden change.

"I'm at the DIY store," he explained. "We ran out of paint. Wh-"

"Oh shit," she whispered. Her breath shuddered, fear transferring to his core through her trembling voice. "Chris, there's someone in the house."

His gut twisted as her words sank in, the desperation to reach out to her almost unbearable.

"What?" he gasped, not quite believing her words. "Are you okay?"

"You have to come home," she begged. He could almost hear tears on her voice. "Please. I can hear them!"

No sooner had Leon slammed down the trunk, Chris was in the passenger seat, signalling for haste.

"Just calm down," he begged, though he knew it was hypocritical of him to urge such a thing when his own heart raced ten to the dozen. "Where are you now? Where can you hear them?"

"I'm in the bedroom," she whispered. "I think...the kitchen. All I can hear is footsteps."

It was then that the situation struck him as rather odd. There was very little of value on the first floor of their home; the baby grand and his Xbox were perhaps the only things worth stealing and the latter had been on the fritz lately with the former far too large to sneak out of the house. While their HD TV appeared to be of value, he applauded anyone who could move it alone; even he had struggled with Barry's help.

"Okay," he breathed. "Lock the bedroom door, and I want you to call the police."

"What?" she hissed. "I'm not hanging up, Chris! Please just hurry."

He did not see fit to argue. In all likelihood he would be home long before the police got there. For a moment, he considered urging her to sneak to the study and open the gun cabinet, but all that remained within were their old Samurai Edge S.T.A.R.S.-issue Berettas and his grandfather's old hunting rifle. The Berettas were so old they were more likely to jam than to fire and the even older hunting rifle, while reliable, had a kick to it that he did not want her to experience in her pregnant state.

His cell remained firmly clasped to his ear on the journey home, Jill's unsteady breathing all that he could hear. As he relayed the news to Leon, he found that they picked up speed, surely above the limit.

Tires screeched on tarmac as the car skidded to a stop in front of 24 Sycamore Avenue, and the engine had not yet died when Chris's feet hit the sidewalk.

"I'm outside," he announced, ending the call to free both of his hands.

The front door was closed when he approached, no sign of forced entry. And as he stepped quietly into the house, he could hear not a single sound. There was no disturbance; the television remained as it was, his Xbox also. For good measure, he checked the lounge, and then the dining room, the kitchen and then out in the back garden.

Nothing.

He found Jill in the master bedroom, and she found his arms a moment later, clinging to his T-shirt. Momentarily, he forgot the reason for the rush, focused only on comforting the trembling woman in his arms.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Despite her tremors, she pulled back, swiping at dry eyes with a clumsy hand.

"I'm fine," she sighed through veiled laughter. "Look at me; so emotional. I'm sorry, Chris. I could have easily fought them off, but...I was worried about the baby, that's all. All it takes is one fall, one unfortunate blow..."

Purely by instinct, he glanced down to their child, as though she could have magically disappeared since the last time he had laid eyes on them. And in that moment, he felt pride. She had always been quick to defend herself, three seconds of pressure away from breaking the arm of a man who allowed his hand to wander where it was not welcome. She had always been able to handle herself, always strong in the right situations, but her safety was not all that was at stake now.

"You did the right thing," he assured her. "We promised we wouldn't take unnecessary risks, remember?"

The sound of a door slamming downstairs startled her, brought her hands back to grip his T-shirt.

"It's okay," he soothed. "It's only Leon."

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a moment later Leon appeared.

"Whoever it was, they're gone," he announced.

At this insistence, Jill moved to sit calmly on the edge of the bed, breathing a sigh of relief. It took every ounce of strength within him to remain as he was and not rush to her side. They had discussed moments that she would fight through alone, and he could tell by her distance that she believed that this was one of them. By offering constant comfort at the slightest hiccup, Jill knew that she would only grow dependent on him and that was the last thing they both wanted. Chris would have given her the world had she asked, but more than anything else he wanted her to find her own strength, not borrow from his.

"I have to go," Leon told him. "I have a meeting in an hour, wanted to drop by and see Claire first. Walk me out?"

It was the urgency in his eyes that brought Chris to obey, and to quietly close the bedroom door behind him as he exited.

"Nobody was here, Chris," Leon sighed when they were out of earshot. "Nothing is disturbed, nothing is missing. Who would break into a house just to walk around?"

Chris grimaced at the concept. It was a possibility that he did not wish to address, never mind accept. She was healthy now, stable and sane. She was the Jill he had barely held hope of seeing again; strong in ways nobody had ever expected after all she had been through.

"I know it's difficult to accept, but-"

"I know," Chris interjected. He did not wish to continue the topic, nor to hear any elaboration on his friend's behalf. "I'll talk to her. I'm not going to let anything happen to her."

And then Leon voiced his greatest fear; the one reality that negated all hope in one brilliant flash of light.

"You may not have a choice in the matter. You may not have any control."

He could not think of what to say to this, simply bowed his head as he fought off the impending sense of defeat. There was silence from the bedroom; were they truly out of earshot?

"I called Rebecca," Leon informed him. "Just in case you both needed someone. I'll unload the paint onto the porch. Guess I'll see you at the barbecue."

With a friendly pat on the shoulder, Leon led the way downstairs, disappearing out of the front door.

Chris was left with a sudden feeling of emptiness, a bitter chill sweeping through his abdomen.

'Maybe she just heard something?' he offered to his hissing fear, hoping that it was enough to placate the beast. But reality hovered not too far away, brandishing its searing iron.

_"Stop doing this!" she seethed from behind the closed door. "You're only doing this because you know in a matter of time you will be gone. You're afraid."_

_Helplessness washed over him in waves, leaving no time to paddle to the surface between strikes. His heart broke at the sound of every word, knowing that she spoke to _him_, that in her mind he was as real as the day he stole her from him._

_"I love him," she whispered. Should he knock? It sounded as though this were a battle she was winning; this was _progress_! "Say that all you want, but I know it's a lie. I took him for granted before and I treated him like shit when he deserved so much better, but I'm going to make it up to him now. Because he has been so good to me. I didn't think it was possible to fall any deeper in love with Chris, but...you showed me I was wrong. Everything you did to me only reinforced what I felt. Even now, all this...it's bringing us closer together."_

_She laughed bitterly, and he sensed her smile even through the thick door._

_"I suppose I should thank you for that," she chuckled._

_Silence again, but he could hear her tears on the edge of the void, barely perceptible._

_"No...no, I don't believe you," she wept, and he sensed that her tears were forceful. "Just get out of my head...leave me alone!"_

_A sound similar to a strangled wail reached him and he pushed on the door, just in time to catch her as she fell. She would have landed forcefully on her knees, perhaps bruised the skin had he not rushed forward. Gently, he lowered her to the floor, kneeled before her as her sobs became forceful._

_"I can't do this," she spluttered, gasping for breath. She was terrified; he could tell from the anguished tone of her voice. "He's still here, he won't go away!"_

_The now-familiar flinch came next; a sudden involuntary jerk that brought her closer to him. It broke his heart to witness her in such a state, pained him deeply every time she reacted to her unseen oppressor._

_"It's not working," she continued, raising her voice presumably above Wesker's._

_"You have only been through one day of therapy," he reminded her. "One day at the hospital is not going to be enough to chase him away. These things take time. You just have to be patient, and hopeful...and strong."_

_Though his words dripped hope, inside he was sure that he was falling apart. Because he too worried that she would not pull through, that schizophreniform disorder would continue into full-blown schizophrenia. He did not know what he would do if her diagnosis was upgraded, if she was cursed with her captor's presence for life. The mere sound of his voice would surely drive her insane. Was that what their future came down to? Supervised visits on a secure ward, straps on her bed for her own safety?_

_They had barely been back on American soil two days when he had found her on the floor of his old apartment's small kitchen, drowning in tears as she held a frighteningly large kitchen knife limply against her knee. It was too much, she had claimed. The world had changed so much in the two and a half years she had been absent, and the memories of her time in captivity were too terrifying, had left her with barely a functioning mind. It upset her that she lacked even the strength to end her suffering; she still felt that she held no control over her life, that it was Wesker's to command and she was without the permission to bring it to an end._

_Two days later she was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder._

_"You're strong enough, baby," he soothed. "He's not welcome here. I'm the one you're stuck with for the rest of your life; there's no room for his hatred."_

_She laughed at this, and he knew that he had her. But there was reluctance in her smile, hidden agony in those pale blue eyes._

_"Dammit Wesker," he sighed, speaking aloud to reinforce the meaning. "Just let her go."_

_It was her lips that found his, kissing him softly in appreciation. Such a simple act, but one he feared that he would one day miss._

A knock on the front door snapped him from his thoughts. Rebecca met him with a half-smile, holding up a bag though making it obvious that she did not expect him to take it.

"I forgot to give these to Jill earlier," she explained. "Just a few things for the baby, I hope you don't mind."

Chris smiled appreciatively. While he and Jill had an eye-watering amount of savings, they were still trying to be careful with their finances now that there was a baby on the way. What did not go towards kitting out the nursery and baby proofing the house would go towards the wedding, with a percentage finding its way to a college fund for their daughter. They wanted to be sure that they could afford to see her through whatever it was she chose to do. All gifts were appreciated with heartfelt gratitude.

"Is she okay?"

He did not quite know how to answer this. Should he lie and pretend that everything was okay? Or should he spill the truth and add yet another name to the list of worried souls?

"I'll take that as a no then," Rebecca realised a she dumped her jacket onto the back of the sofa. "Leon said that she heard someone downstairs...but there was nobody there?"

A nod confirmed that this was true and her expression fell.

"I'll talk to her," she offered.

And with slow steps, they ascended the staircase and made for the master bedroom. The door had been left slightly ajar, no movement audible from within. When Chris pushed, the door swung open to reveal Jill's unmoving form against the sheets, eyes closed as she remained oblivious to their presence.

"I think she's sleeping," he whispered. "It's okay, don't worry about it."

But he knew that worry was all that Rebecca would do. He could almost see the medical encyclopaedia being dusted off inside her skull as she searched for possible harm to her unborn goddaughter.

"Do you want to see the nursery?"

Her expression brightened at this and she followed him across the upstairs to the nursery, mindful of the wet paint as she stepped inside. One wall remained to be painted, with the butterflies coming next. There was no furniture, simply boxes that remained unopened and packed.

"It's a lovely colour," she commented with a smile. With a spring in her step, she moved to peer out of the window. "And every little girl dreams of having a window seat. You chose the perfect room."

Chris agreed with a smile. There were four bedrooms in total in the house; three 'guest' bedrooms long the front of the house, one that emerged further than the others to expand the room. It was this bedroom that had begun the transformation into the nursery. In terms of access, it was closest to the master bedroom, which looked out over the back garden, separated from them only by the main bathroom.

"I wish she was here already," he sighed.

All he had to do was glance at Jill's bump and hypothetical visions would flash through his mind. Jill's daughter..._his_ daughter.

"Is she okay?" Rebecca asked again. "Because...at the mall... She thought that someone was following us. I couldn't see anyone, Chris. I didn't think much of it, but after what Leon said..."

The horribly bitter taste of reality lingered on the edge of his tongue. The truth terrified him, realisation suffocating.

"Maybe I was too hopeful," he sighed. "Or maybe I'm not hopeful enough. It's one little lapse; she is doing well. If she was relapsing, Dr. Keller would have picked up on it."

He knew that it was absurd to attribute the events of one day to a relapse, but he worried too much to ignore the possibility.

"Did she really get better?" Rebecca asked quietly. "Because two thirds of patients who are given a diagnosis of Schizophreniform Disorder are later diagnosed with Schizophrenia. If she got better, then great, but...if she was lying about-"

A sudden thud by the door broke the conversation, fading footsteps thundering towards the staircase.

Silence prevailed, nervous eyes met, and then they too ran, almost tripping over one another on the stairs. The front door slammed as they hit the final step, and by the time they made it onto the porch, Jill was already in the Nova, reversing into the street.

"Jill!" he cried, despite the futility of such an endeavour. "Shit!"

He was afforded a glimpse of her expression as she drove by, sure that he could see tears glistening on her cheeks.

"Do you think she heard me?" Rebecca gasped, unnerved by the idea.

Chris knew that she had, but refrained from admission. There was no need to upset her.

Stability had been a fragile state, and Jill's doubt that she had truly healed brought uncertainty to her view of the future. She had known that there was the possibility that she would not recover, that schizophrenia would settle into her life and she would never be free. But hope had kept her afloat. Now words had weighed her down.

"We have to find her," he muttered, suddenly concerned. Memories of her days of therapy flooded back; if she was in any state close to what he had witnessed, then they had something to worry about. A momentary lapse of concentration on the road was all it took.

But a quick call to her cell when they returned inside ended with the blaring of her ringtone from the sofa.

"Follow her!" Rebecca urged.

"I can't! She took my car and she has the keys to hers!"

He tried not to allow the dull ache in his gut to wrench his insides, but it could not be helped. Jill did not run away, was so terrified of damaging his prized Nova that she wouldn't even help him wash it.

The emotions it would require to override such concern were enough to plant the seeds of worry in even the most optimistic mind.

* * *

**_November 14, 2009. 1:30pm. Location unknown._**

The light burned his retina, the chains that secured his wrists tightly behind his back jarring against broken skin. What day was it? What time? How long had he been there?

One of the lab coats paced before him, tapping on a PDA with the tenacity a trapped rat. His expression followed a similar metaphor, panic suppressed but still evident.

Lou pulled his thoughts across the surface of his skin, mapping every injury. He could not remember all that they had done to him, could not forget so much more. Wounds would heal only to be reopened, starvation merely the status quo.

They grew more and more agitated with every silent day that passed. Because he had not spoken a word that was of interest to them, despite their methods. They could do whatever the hell they wanted to his body; his mind would never give in.

"Do you want to die?" the lab coat asked. They were all faceless to him.

"If I wanted to die, I'd have given you the data already," he chuckled. "You're going to kill me as soon as I do, so really...what's in it for me?"

His captor frowned, leaned down on his haunches to bring his eyes level with the prisoner's. Lou could feel the lack of concern in his gaze. A human life was in the balance, yet it did not affect him in the slightest. Heartless, cold...inhuman. It was a necessity in his line of work.

"How about your family, 'Lou'?" he spoke calmly, hateful gaze intense. "Surely they miss you?"

The words touched a nerve, but he did not flinch. He had not spoken to his family in many years, had fallen out of favour with all but his mother. And she believed him to be dead. She was frail, weak. Cancer had stricken her years ago and though the poison had left her system, the effects lingered. He had not wanted to be an additional burden, and so had severed contact at the first opportunity. Wherever he went, tragedy often followed.

"That is what you are going by these days, am I correct? Lou?"

It was a name, nothing more. He remained the same as he had always been, his purpose bearing the same message. It was with dry humour that he accepted the truth; that freedom fighters could never call that peace their own.

"You don't appear to have a care in the world," the man pointed out. "You barely have any regard for your own life. So tell me, Lou; there has to be something or someone out there you do care about."

Nothing. He would give them nothing. And they could take nothing from him, because that was what he had. The last few years had been preparation for a moment such as this. Distance was all that could protect those who wished to associate with him.

"Or should I call you William?"

Laughter escaped cracked lips and he peered up through fallen hair. Cutting it had been a waste, he realised.

"My name is not William," he sneered. "You should really get your facts straight if you're going to use them against me."

But the man simply smiled.

"Forgive me," he laughed. "I assumed that 'Billy' was short for William. If it is not, then it is quite a ridiculous name."

Silence. The name rang in his ears. He could not remember the last time he had been addressed as such. It was his father's idea to hand down the name 'Billy'. After nine months of referring to his unborn son as 'The Kid', 'Billy' had come naturally. Billy the kid. His father had called him such until the heart attack that claimed his life. Billy, short for the William who had named him; always meant to come up short in everything he did.

"If you don't like it you could always call me 'sir'."

He did not know why he laughed, but the sound echoed around the room. The man's patience had been tried and tested, and he knew that their little session was close to over. They could not kill him, not until they had procured what they sought. This was all that kept him alive.

"If you trust your little notes so much, then you will know that I was a Lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps. You think you can torture a Marine into submission? Good luck with that."

"Your training will mean nothing, Mr. Coen," warned his captor. "One way or another we will get what we want. So it really is in your best interests to tell us where you have hidden the stolen data."

He waited for a reply, rising once again to his feet.

"Go fuck yourself," Billy suggested.

The electrical current ripped through his body, the floor tiles around him glowing until the power cut off and he collapsed against them, agony flaring in every joint.

'How much longer are they going to keep this up?'

Handing over the data was out of the question; a contingency plan was already in effect. He had thought this through, knew who he could trust.

The footsteps of his captor were joined by a second set, and a murmur of momentary conversation passed between them.

"Take him back to his cell," the newcomer instructed, his voice barely audible above the pounding ache in his head. "Actually, no. On second thoughts, take him for a shave and get him cleaned up. He looks ridiculous."

Billy couldn't move, merely hung between the two guards that came to escort him away. Toes scraped across the floor through a hole in his boot, pain flaring as they jostled him carelessly.

He remained speechless, head hung uselessly before him. So many years of isolation, shying away from friendship and family. Now, there was not a soul to miss him. He had always prepared for a death in this vein, knowing that it was far more likely than slipping away whilst surrounded by loved ones. He had fled for so long that when freedom was finally in his grasp, he did not know how to stop running. Isolation was ideal; this was the inevitability that he had planned for through years of loneliness.

If only the fruition of his plan was not so bittersweet.

* * *

**_November 14, 2009. 1:45pm. Washington DC._**

Jill did not know how long she had driven for, was not even aware that she had left Arlington until the streets of D.C. became familiar to her. She had not known where she was heading, knew only that she needed to get away. Her cheeks were damp now, tears rolling without permission. Why had they been so loud? Even Rebecca, with her timid voice, had failed to hide her words.

The park she had found was a little out of the way, and empty at this time of day. The trees were still green for the most part, sheltering the small clearing from the wind.

The ignition died with a resigned shudder as she turned the key, quieting the radio she had turned on solely to drown the scream of her thoughts.

_"If she got better, then great, but...if she was lying about-"_

Lying. Just one word, yet it had carved through her with the violence of a hateful rant. The worry of schizophrenia did not concern her in comparison, nor did their quiet conversation. But the mere suggestion that she had been less than honest about the trauma she had struggled through had hit her so hard that she may as well have found her friend fucking her fiancé. She did not need to wait to hear Chris's agreement; he was worried that she was slipping, would entertain the idea because it made perfect sense.

'What if I _am_ going crazy?' she wondered.

She faced the prospect with terror now, once believing that her friends would stand by her. But they already saw her as a patient, already believed that the slightest hint of a mistake signalled her insanity.

She knew what she had seen, and she knew that it was no hallucination. Wesker had always appeared so different, but his mere presence paralysed her mind in a way that made her powerless to detect these abnormalities until the therapy began to take effect. The man at the mall had been real.

'Then where did he go? He disappeared so fast...it's impossible!'

It was warm within the Nova, but she shivered as sobs wracked her body. So she pulled her jacket further around her shoulders, jumping a little when her elbow knocked against something warm.

And once again, she cried, for it was her bump that she had knocked, forgetting for a moment the life she carried within. Adjusting to the pregnancy had been more difficult than she had anticipated. She knew that she was with child, but still could not quite believe it. Luck such as this did not come her way often.

"What am I doing, kid?" she winced, running a hand across her abdomen. "Always running."

Her arms rushed up to brace herself against the steering wheel as strength left her, the moisture of her tears dripping from eyelashes. She cried silently now, urging herself to pull together for the sake of her child.

She had never felt so disconnected from those around her. No trust, only sympathy. When had friendship grown so cold? Had it been in the two years she had gone? Had they been faking all this time?

A sudden knock on the passenger side window startled her, and the horn blared as she jumped. Her heart beat itself almost to failure as the bearded face of Barry Burton presented itself, making sure that she knew he was there before opening the door.

"Mind if I get in?" he asked.

Jill remained silent but nodded meekly. She did not particularly want the company, but knew that he would not leave.

"How did you find me?" she asked quietly.

Barry rubbed his beard, rough bristles rustling beneath his touch. Awkwardness radiated from him, his posture unsettled.

"I caught sight of you a few miles before you left Arlington," he explained. "I followed. Wanted to see where you were heading."

A million questions rushed forward, but only one presented itself on the tip of her tongue.

"Why did you follow?"

He turned to her, frowning in concern.

"Because Chris would have kicked my ass if I'd just let you go," he chuckled. "He got worried when you took off, called round everyone to see if you'd taken refuge somewhere. Everyone is looking for you, Jill."

Humiliation turned to anger as she processed this, fury seeping out through a further wave of tears.

"So I can't go for a drive without setting off alarm bells?" she demanded. "Have you all got me on suicide watch or something?"

"It's not like that, Jill." His tone was impatient. "Rebecca told us you overheard her talking about Schizophrenia and..."

He stopped as she flinched, the word piercing her lungs. Now that her mind was once again in her domain of control, she had grown rather fond of it and could not bear the thought of it slipping away once again.

"You know that the progression from one to the other is seamless, right?"

She swallowed, eyes closing.

"I know," she sighed. "I know, but... She thinks I could be lying about my recovery. I think you all do, and-"

"And how the hell would you know what we think?" Barry interrupted. "You barely talk to us anymore. Is it any wonder that we thought you'd ran away?"

She frowned, biting back an angry retort. Because he was right, and deep down she knew it.

"So what if I don't?" she growled, restrained in her contempt. "I'm gone for two and a half years and when I come back you all treat me like I'm some fragile doll that should be observed but never touched. A lot happened, Barry. I barely knew myself anymore. You were strangers when I walked back into your lives. But now everyone is 'concerned', everyone talks about me behind my back. Came you blame me for being paranoid?"

Breath escaped her, refusing to return. It was the first time she had admitted her feelings aloud, the first time anyone had listened. Sometimes she felt that she could not trust her friends. All sense of expectation had eroded during her time in captivity, when the only thing that became trustworthy was Wesker's cruelty.

But she had trusted Chris; it came easily to her. He had rescued her, had held her honestly and spoken to her as an equal, not as a patient as the others often did.

"We're worried about you," Barry informed her. "That's all."

But all she saw was an excuse; sugar-coated truth.

"Then don't be!" she pleaded. "I can take care of myself. I'm a lot stronger than I look."

As Barry smiled at her admission, she felt warmth swell within her chest, confidence rising. That she could still insist such a thing after all she had been through astounded even her.

"I guess our concern is a little overbearing at times. But we have no idea what you went through. We fear the worst and act accordingly. I'm not making excuses, but…we all felt it when Chris told us you had been killed."

She sense what he was suggesting; that she open up to the others, revealed all that had almost driven her insane. But would they stand by her if she did? Would they overlook the details as Chris had, knowing that she was not in control? Or would they brand her weak for her fruitless fighting?

"What you fear likely has no bearing on the truth," she laughed humourlessly. "I killed innocent people in his name. Others died because of me. All the medication in the world can't drown out their screams."

There was silence, before he shifted in his seat and turned to her.

"Would you want it to?" he asked simply.

"No."

She did not need to consider her answer. She had always feared the day when she would feel nothing as her hands stole life. But after two and a half years, each act was as troubling as the last. The screams told her that she was still human, still nothing like the monster that plucked her strings.

"There are things even Chris doesn't know," she sniffed as a fresh wave of tears pricked at her eyes. "It wasn't just torture; it was humiliation. Wesker wanted to break me before he bent me...I still don't know if he succeeded or not. Simply being with him was enough to terrify me; I've never known anyone to have such disregard for life. It was…terrifying. He was cold and hatred seemed to seep from his pores. Ten years' worth of anger, Barry, and he took it all out on me."

Tears blinded her as they fell, but she felt his hand on her arm, his grip stronger than Chris's was in such instances. Somehow, the fact that he was not Chris made all the difference. Speaking to Chris often felt like writing in a journal; she would reveal what she wanted to, the contents never leaving the pages, never spoken of again. Familiarity drove her to bad habits, to secrecy from the others. Now, she was speaking aloud, letting her thoughts be heard.

It was a wonderful feeling.

"That is all in the past," Barry spoke softly. "You have one hell of a future ahead of you. I used to pity the girl Chris would eventually settle down with, but he changed when he met you. He turned into one hell of a guy, and he would do anything for you; you'll want for nothing. And the baby..."

The smile once again crept across her lips, and tears fell into the corners of her mouth.

"Are you happy about this pregnancy?"

The question did not anger her as it should have, for she could see from where it stemmed, and to where answer would point. So she spoke the truth.

"I am carrying the child of the man I love. I have never felt so happy over anything in my life! I'm going to give birth to Chris's daughter!"

She could not suppress the laughter that came with the last sentence. Barry laughed also, a father himself. Children had never been expected in their generation. Barry had always been the father, Kathy the mother. Now, things were changing.

"Well, I never gave congratulations for your first pregnancy," he chuckled. "So...congratulations. First child, first daughter; I assume there will be more?"

Jill's smile fell into shadow, joy rapidly descending into grief.

She and Chris had never talked about children, save for the discussion of her inability to bear child and survive. At least, they had never talked about children prior to their arrival in Europe. Now that she knew he had intended to propose at the close of the mission, she was no longer surprised by the sudden sharp turn their conversation had taken. He wanted to know if she would have liked to adopt from America or abroad, as though adoption was already a course of action they had decided upon.

They had barely been given time to grow comfortable with her first pregnancy before it was over, and children were not a topic of conversation that they had veered towards in the aftermath. Quite the opposite, actually.

"I assume so too," she answered. "But...she's not my first."

She felt Barry's sudden start, and the sting of her own words settled into wounds that had not yet fully healed.

"I found out the day we moved into the house on Sycamore that I was pregnant," she breathed. A voluntary admission; one more step forward. "Blame loneliness, hurt and the inability to keep our hands off one another after almost three years apart. But...two days before we were going to announce the news...the baby died. I could have died too but it's funny how I always forget that part. It was the P30; the chemical Wesker had used to drug me into submission."

She swallowed resistance as Berry remained silent. The words almost choked her, but she willed herself to speak them.

"When I found out...I thought I would _die_ from the grief. I've lost a parent, lost friends...but nothing compares to the pain of losing a child. A part of you dies with them and...suddenly the world doesn't make sense. I am so terrified that I'm going to lose her too. We promised ourselves that we wouldn't get too attached too soon, but I'm in love with her already."

Barry pulled her into an awkward embrace over the gear stick as she cried out resurfacing grief. She let him hold her, knowing that as a father he understood.

Because no matter how small the child may have been, it was still part of her, still part of Chris. And though their daughter filled her with a sense of love and hope, it was not simply a case of replacing a lost child.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Barry whispered. His voice was unsteady, emotional for reasons she did not understand. She allowed him to pull back, wiped tears from beneath her eyes with trembling fingertips. "Kathy fell pregnant not long after we married. She was barely out of the first trimester when she miscarried. I was away on tour at the time, but when they heard the news they sent me back home. I wasn't in the right mind for the job; I was a liability. It was years before we found the strength to try for another. Moira and Polly mean the world to me, but I still miss our first. It makes no difference whether it was a stillbirth, a childhood accident or a miscarriage; you've still lost a child and you feel it all the same. Some people just don't understand that."

Jill was breathless, and she was not quite sure of the reason. Barry had never breathed a word of his loss to anyone. While part of her wondered why, a larger part understood. Because he was the first she had told of her miscarriage when the situation had not made admission inevitable. Chris had maintained his silence too. Sympathy was the last thing they needed. They needed to heal, and that was just not possible with worried friends closing in.

"As much good as this conversation is doing," Barry coughed, diverting the conversation away from an admittedly sensitive subject. "That man you love - he's going to want to know you're okay."

He pulled his cell from his coat pocket and waved it in anticipation of her permission.

"Call him," she sighed. "Tell him where we are - I'm not entirely sure myself. I'm going to...get some air."

The cold November breeze hit her as she stepped out of the vehicle, but the chill was pleasant against her skin. A small flutter of movement was felt in her abdomen as she began to walk, and she smiled as she did every time she felt her baby move. There were no kicks yet, no large movements. But she could tell now which sensations signalled the restlessness of her daughter.

There was a park bench further onto the grass, at the edge of a path, overlooking a small pond. It was here that she settled, the faint rustle of the wind in the trees the only sound.

'I need to talk to them,' she resolved. 'If they keep acting like I'm crazy, sooner or later I'm going to start acting like I am.'

It pleased her to sense that beneath the uneasiness, she felt like herself. The doubt was gone, the hesitation, the weakness. Rather than seek comfort from Chris, she had sought space to seek it on her own.

She did not know for how long she stared across the pond when the sudden slam of a car door sounded behind her. Tires whired against tarmac; Chris must have taken a cab.

She waited for the footsteps, but they were softened by the grass. Long minutes passed and then he approached. Wordlessly, he sat beside her, and she turned.

It felt to her like the first time she had laid eyes on him in weeks. Everything about his appearance thrilled her, from the dark leather of his jacket - once his father's - to the lingering scent of paint that the breeze brought to her. Every time she saw him, he took her breath away.

"You know if you leave you're going to take my heart," he spoke softly with that crooked smile. "But did you have to take my car as well?"

It was obvious that Barry had exchanged a few words with him. But it was Chris's sense of humour that brought ease to her mind.

"I'm not going crazy," she told him. "Someone was in our house."

"Okay," he whispered. "I believe you. And if what Rebecca said upset you-"

"It's not that."

She did not lean into the arm he placed around her, did not press to the inviting warmth of his body. It was comfort that she did not need; how much she wanted it was irrelevant.

"It's me, Chris," she insisted. "I'm not that frightened little girl you brought home from Africa. I didn't think it was possible, but I feel like me again. I just wish that you would all stop treating me like I'm so damn fragile, like I can't be trusted. I just needed some fresh air and you sparked a manhunt for me!"

His expression became downcast, but thought shame shot through her, she refused to let it show. But then, he raised a hand to his face, masked his features.

"I'm sorry," he regretted. "It was never my intention to make you feel like..."

When he turned to her, he could barely open his eyes, fighting back what he felt that she should not see.

"But Jill...everytime you walk away from me, I'm scared that you're not going to come back. I've lost you too many times already."

Shame blossomed into empathy, and her lips found his with a soft kiss, reassuring him of her presence. The hand that moved to her hair the second contact was made moved of its own volition; she could tell by the position of each of his fingertips against the curve of her neck. He worried far too much, and as their short kiss ended, she rested her forehead against his in a move that had come to mean "There is nowhere else I would rather be; I'm not going anywhere". And she melded into his embrace, holding him as he fell into the role of submissive. This comfort was all his.

Slowly, he pulled back, and she could tell that she had succeeded in easing the fear from his heart. At least for now.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded in reply, but turned back towards the pond.

"Do you want to go home?"

"Not yet."

Silence.

"Do you want me to sit with you?"

She exhaled slowly, hoping that he would not be too offended by her answer.

"No. I just want to be alone right now."

His smile radiated pride, the fingers that had played with the collar of her jacket throughtout their short-lived conversation moving back.

"I'll be waiting by the car," he told her. "Take your time. Whenever you're ready."

**AN - Please review :)**


	12. Baby Blues

**AN** - This chapter came out a little differently than planned (And I know I say that a lot lol). I realised that things have been a little dull so I'm trying to space everything better to try to make things a little less bland before everything kicks off again ^_^. If the new addition in this chapter proves a little confusing, I recommend reading the epilogue of Strength Through Wounding.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed - _Kenshin13, Ultimolu, SnipingWolf, Ceylon, tek, Black Metalmark, 86, xSummonerYunax,_ and_ Ninja-Gnome._ I keep trying to think of new and creative ways to say thank you, but as usual I have come up blank. So I'll just say another huge thank you for supporting this story!

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Eleven_**_ - Baby Blues_

_'But as in ethics, evil is a consequence of good, so, in fact, out of joy is sorrow born.'  
_~Edgar Allan Poe~

**_December 9, 2009. 12:05pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

_It was dark at the bottom of the well, suffocating. Fingernails were embedded in the walls; a horrifying reminder of each failed attempt at escape._

_That was how the world seemed to her now._

_Even breathing was painful, as though the air of her cell was laden with metallic particles. She had never cried quite so much in her life._

_The killing had ceased, at least for the time being. The device remained against her skin; no amount of tugging could dislodge it. She despised the clunky plastic shell, despised all that it had forced her to become._

_Barely able to move, Jill pulled herself up onto her bunk, scrabbling for her flat pillow in the darkness. The pyjamas she changed into every night were at least comfortable, but the sheet was barely enough to keep her warm. Even Africa was cold on winter nights, and Wesker did not care enough to regulate the temperature of her cell._

_The remainder of her meal stood by the door, glass of water drained. He always fed her well, ensuring that she remained in the best possible shape. It was to his advantage; her comfort was not. There had been a time when she had refused food, hoping to starve out of her misery. But death was just one more thing that was simply too good for her in Wesker's eyes. When threats and physical violence could not bring her to eat, he had his scientists force-feed her. It was not an experience she wished to repeat._

_Before the reminder of futility set in, she began to wonder just how long it had been since then. Her mind told her that it had been several years, but her body begged to differ. If years had passed, why had she not aged? She was not allowed to know the date, or the time. Yet another method of psychological torture designed to break her will._

_She spat out a hacking cough, eyes watering from the force of the twitch. As though on cue, a bottle of mineral water was thrust through the slot at the bottom of her door. Lack of sleep would make the body weak, and it was her body that did his work. What her mind did no longer mattered._

_There was no warmth in the sheets, no friendly care to help chase away the developing sickness. Wesker would leave her to suffer through it with minimal medication, though the tube could have healed her in a matter of hours._

_She had fallen ill not long after her relationship with Chris began. It was simple influenza, but it had hit her hard. All that kept her within Chris's apartment was the inability to walk more than a few paces before dizziness overcame her. Despite the contagious nature of her illness, he remained with her at nights, his warmth lulling her into peaceful sleep. One night, she had woken at an obscene hour, choking on the very air that she breathed. She had been able to remember nothing but a similar incident with an ex-boyfriend, when he had scolded her for waking him and left her on her own, without the water and warmth she needed. When Chris rose from the mattress, she feared a repeat, had felt a dull ache in her chest as she realised that the man she loved was leaving her in a moment of terrifying breathlessness. But he had reappeared moments later, a large glass of water held before him. One large hand had rubbed her back soothingly as the other held the glass to her lips, encouraging her to drink until her throat felt a little less like sandpaper. And then he had held her, softly stroking her hair until sleep claimed her once again. An almost crippling dose of man-flu had rewarded his efforts, but he had never once blamed her for the week of work that he missed._

_She missed that soothing touch, and the words he would whisper to comfort her. Falling ill had not been such an inconvenience since she had met him, but now...now she needed that warmth - the physical, too._

_Closing her eyes, she pictured him beside her, his love both spoken and felt. But she could barely remember what his touch felt like, how calming his voice was. Memories washed away with tears, and she gripped the sheets as she would have done his shirt. Somehow, she felt that this hell would not be so bad if he were there to comfort her at the end of each difficult day._

_'He's alive,' she reminded herself. 'He is alive because of what you did. Somewhere out there, he is living because of you.'_

_'Living, dating, fucking other girls.' She clasped her hands to her ears, willing the thoughts to cease. 'Right now, he probably has lipstick on his dick, smoking, laughing...forgetting you.'_

_"No," she cried through hands that moved to her face. "No."_

_Though her mind accepted that this was not the worst possibility. They had promised to prepare for the possible death of one another, had sworn that they would try to move on with their lives and live as the other would have wanted them to. But life without Chris was killing her, emphasised by the cruelty of their enemy._

_Selfish thoughts plagued her night and day. Part of her didn't want him to move on, part of her wanted him to search for her, to find her and rescue her and they would fly off into the sunset again. Her heart was torn between selfish want and the genuine desire for him to find happiness without her. The conflict was shredding what remained inside, Wesker's torment breaking her mind while inner conflict weakened her heart._

_She let the scream ring out loud, the sound terrifying her to the core. Tension clawed its way out; years, months, days - however long it had been. It was not long until the guards were with her, Wesker hot on their heels. She fought at first, until she saw the needle, watched it draw closer to the crook of her arm. And then she relaxed when the tip pierced her skin, when fluid drained into her veins. Sedation. Sweet, sweet release. She could not remember the last time she had truly slept of her own accord._

_Wesker's eye caught hers, bloodshot and tear-filled as she lay back and opened her arms to sleep. She had not yet displayed true weakness before him._

_It was the surprise that caught her off-guard. It was not the amused surprise of witnessing something morbidly funny and unexpected; it was the devastating surprise of fact being proven fiction. Had she not known better, she would have guessed that the impact of what he had put her through had finally sank in, and he had realised that strong, assertive, dependable Jill Valentine had lost her mind. He wore the look of a child who had opened an anxiously anticipated present only to find that it was not quite as satisfying as they had expected it to be._

_"Okay," she whispered as her eyelids drooped. If he wanted this, he could have it. Because she no longer cared._

_"You win..."_

_'...this time.'_

Jill trembled as she woke from the memory, the roots of her hair damp with sweat. Her heart beat furiously, her daughter restless. It was to her bump that her attention fell first, a hand sweeping over the swell of twenty-four weeks as she hushed the baby, feeling the fluttering ease.

But the headache remained, the nausea and the sensation of sitting outdoors on a humid Floridian summer afternoon. The heat was uncomfortable, though the fan continued to spin. Sickness was simply part of the status quo for winter, but she felt no better than she had the day before. If anything, she felt worse.

The nightmare only added to the nausea. Being ill was never fun, but now she knew that it could be far worse. A bad dose of influenza and the realisation that her life was truly over, despite the continued beating of her heart, was all that it had taken for her to stop fighting the chemical. The quiet pocket at the back of her mind had been a pleasant place to hide at the time - it was there that she stored the things Wesker could not touch, and she found comfort and solace in those traits and memories.

She could sense that something was not right when her stomach lurched, and she barely made it to the ensuite in time to save their carpet. Weakness buckled her legs; she could barely grip the edge of the toilet bowl. Her vision distorted as she heard Chris's footsteps, slow as he realised that she was no longer in bed. A second and third retch brought him to her side, his hands slipping against the sweat that coated her arms.

"Shit, Jill," he muttered anxiously as he pressed a clammy had to her forehead. "You're burning up - you definitely have a fever. Come on, this has gone far enough; we're going to the hospital."

His hand fell away when she batted it, and she tried to stand to prove that she was okay but her legs simply would not support her weight. Pride darted aside as she considered their child, and she nodded weakly, allowing him to sweep her into his arms when she could not even rest her weight against his.

"I had a dream," she mumbled, closing her eyes as the interior of their home flashed by in a haze of colour. "A memory..."

"Baby, don't think about that. Just think about our girl, and our wedding...think about all the great memories we will have soon."

As the cold air hit her, front door slamming behind them, she felt the chill beneath her skin. It was not the cold, was not the breeze. It was the sickening realisation that something was very, very wrong.

* * *

**_December 9, 2009. 12:40pm. Location unknown._**

Billy did not touch his lunch today. The mere thought of food made his stomach turn, aching muscles longing for rest. Maybe if he just lay there, the pain would go away?

His arms were once again defined, muscle accentuating the contours of his tattoo. Today marked the seventeenth occasion on which they had forced him into their gymnasium, threatening him in new and intriguing ways. Torture made way for exercise, though it had become unpleasant in its own right. He played along with their little game, knowing that the more strength he developed, the more he had to use against them when the opportunity presented itself.

'They're never going to let you go,' he reminded himself. 'You heard them talk about tyrants. They're going to turn you into one; why else would they want you to be in good shape?'

New scars had formed, though he could barely remember which were familiar and which were not. He was no longer sure of exactly how long he had been held, knew only that it had been months since he had seen daylight.

"You're painting it, too?"

Suppressing a cry, he rolled over onto his side, shimmied closer to the vent at the bottom of the right-hand wall, which connected his cell to the next. Others had come and gone in the cell to his left, but this one had remained empty since his arrival.

"I thought it would be a nice touch."

Laughter.

"Is all this really necessary?"

"Comfort above everything. The more natural this process is, the better the end result will be."

"You really think this will work?"

Billy tried to peer through the grate, but could see only shadows and light. An assortment of noises from the neighbouring cell had caught his attention in recent days. Hammering, the shifting of furniture. And it had all been accentuated by the distinct scent of paint.

"Not really." More laughter, from both men. "But it's worth a try, right?"

"Whatever."

"Don't tell me you're starting to have doubts?"

"I'm not doubting…I just get the chills every time the word 'Uroboros' is brought up in conversation. I don't care what their intention is."

Uroboros...he had heard that word before. It was a virus, designed and manufactured by Albert Wesker, another one of Umbrella's whack jobs; perhaps the most dangerous of them all. The last traces of the virus had died with its creator. It was ancient history, whatever way one looked at it.

"Still, this is... I've got a bad feeling about this," the first voice continued. "Even if everything goes to plan, we're going to have a whole lot of nasty heading our way. You know they're not going to just let her go."

"Patience. It's all being taken care of."

Billy rolled away as footsteps echoed out into the hallway. Pins and needles had begun to set in, though he was not sure if they were a welcome alternative to the pain.

The other prisoners were never too talkative, always believing that he was either a product of their imagination or an agent of the enemy, placed to thwart any escape attempts. His own was suffering as a result. There was simply no way he could do this alone, not in the constant state of agony his body seemed to be in these days.

But his mind remained strong, and it drifted to the overheard conversation. If he was to gain another neighbour, perhaps his situation would not be so futile. He would not have wished for his mortal enemy to be in his position, but a new captive meant a new chance to escape.

It was difficult not to regret isolation. The realisation that there was not a soul out there that missed him struck deep. It was a bittersweet feeling; after all he had done, his disappearance impacted on no-one. He wondered if anyone even knew that he was missing. No rescue and the only hope that lingered was that their new target had not made the same mistake.

* * *

**_December 9, 2009. 1:40pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Chris was sick of walking these hallways. Since Jill's return, they had become worryingly familiar. He had always believed that everything would be perfect if she ever returned to his life. But captivity had evidently taken its toll on both her body and mind, ensuring that the transition to 'normal' life was as rough as possible. He only wished that the rescue had been the end of her suffering.

They had rushed her straight to the nearest ward upon arrival, seeing that she was barely conscious. He had stepped aside to allow the doctors to work, had retreated to the cafeteria and only just found the strength to emerge.

She had been moved to the obstetrics ward, a nurse told him with a polite smile. He could not find one of his own, but fear did not present. He was numb inside, the sickening thought of 'not again' crossing his mind. It was a strange sense of painful resignation.

She was wide awake when he found her room, smiling uneasily with her abdomen exposed, a nurse performing an unscheduled ultrasound.

He found that his shoulders sagged in relief as he heard the strong heartbeat, saw the surprisingly large shape on the screen. There was colour in Jill's cheeks once again, delirium long since passed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as he sank into the chair beside her bed, reaching for her hand. And he was surprised to find that there was overwhelming strength in her grip.

"A lot better," she assured him. But trepidation remained in her voice, and they both turned to the midwife for answers.

Chris's heart pounded in his ears, fear his mind had not allowed him to realise ebbing away as his daughter's heartbeat remained loud around them.

"Is she okay?" Jill asked. It was always the first question to pass her lips at the scheduled scans; why would it be any different now?

"She's fine," the midwife assured her as she paused the image and produced several paper towels. "You, on the other hand..."

Jill froze, and though Chris faltered in his composure, it was he who reached over for the towels and began to wipe the gel from her abdomen.

"You have a kidney infection," the midwife told her. "Don't worry; they are more common than you think amongst pregnant women. A course of antibiotics should set you straight. It seems we caught this in the early stages, so hopefully it won't be necessary to keep you on medication for the remainder of your pregnancy. However, considering your last pregnancy-"

"You want to keep me in overnight?" Jill groaned knowingly. "Just to be sure, right?"

The midwife nodded with a smile and patted her lightly on the leg.

"Of course, it's up to you. I can send you home if you promise to check in tomorrow morning. If you feel comfortable with-"

"No, no! I'll stay."

The midwife smiled, evidently knowing that this would be her response.

"I'll go update your records. Just take it easy."

Chris waited until she had left before he leaned in close and pressed his lips to Jill's cheek. She turned slowly, and he faltered as her eyes met his. His grip tightened, and he raised her hands to his lips, simply holding her skin to his. He never tired of her warmth, never tired of the sheer disbelief that set in when he would catch a glimpse of the ring on her finger.

"Don't," she warned him. "If you start worrying about her, I will too."

With a smile, he reached up with his free hand to hold her chin between his thumb and forefinger. And he stole a tender kiss, smiling as he felt her deep exhalation as they parted. Her eyes were closed, and he sensed the same affection that coursed through his veins. To know that she cared for him, that she loved him so profoundly, made all else irrelevant.

Save for his daughter. She was so small still, yet he already felt like a father, already loved her deeply.

"I'm not worried about her," he smiled. "Every time we see her, she is bigger and stronger. She has your spirit, I know it; she's not going anywhere. It's you I'm worried about, Jill. Three months from now, I want to be holding _both_ of you."

She smiled, and he could tell from her pursed lips that it was involuntary.

"I feel fine," she insisted. "I don't know why they are keeping me here, but...I don't want anything to happen to her, and I don't want to put her at risk for the sake of arguing."

"Do you want to talk about your dream?"

He did not know where the question had come from, and she seemed equally surprised by his probing. Her eyes fell to the hand she held against her lap, bottom lip drawn between her teeth.

"It was just another damn flashback," she sighed. And then came the concentration, the subconscious willing to speak her mind. "It...made me realise how different things are now. I know that sounds ridiculous, but..."

He squeezed the hand that remained in his, sympathy washing over him. Since her return, she had grown to appreciate the smaller details in life. She would be perfectly content simply watching the ocean for hours, or lying silent in his arms. Because to her they were no longer 'small'. After two and a half years of nothing, what she had previously overlooked now enthralled her.

"I'm glad that I found you," she smiled. "I love you, and I am so grateful for you. I don't tell you that enough. It's always about me, and I don't want it to be like that. I could spend the rest of my life trying to repay all that you have done for me, but I wouldn't even come close."

Memories returned to him. He was ill, and she took care of him. He was upset, and she comforted him. Sometimes, all it took was her presence and all that was wrong suddenly did not matter. She always had an embrace to offer when he was down, always knew how to make him smile again. She never took no for an answer, would always provoke laughter when he was in an opposite emotional state. All the little things she held so dear brightened up his every day: the casual humming as she cooked; the way she would twist bacon and eggs into a smile to disguise the areas that had turned black.

"Babe, I feel the same way," he spoke softly.

Her smile faded as she squeezed the hand that held hers, biting her lip once again.

"Chris, I think someone has been in our house again," she whispered.

Doubt rushed forward, and the hurt in her expression told him that she recognised it. It pained him to doubt her, but there was no foundation upon which her claims were built. If there was evidence, it was invisible to everyone but her.

"I'm not making this up!" Her voice was almost a cry; panicked and shrill. "I cleaned the kitchen yesterday and since then, a lot of things have been moved. I know it's not you so don't pretend that it is."

"Jill, listen to yourself!" he pleaded, unable to help implying insanity. "Who would break into our house to mess with the cutlery?"

She swallowed the idea, blushing as she realised how foolish her accusation was. And he cast aside worry, remembering his promise to her. Paranoia was not an illness, and after all she had been through, she had a right to be a little uneasy.

But her expression remained dark, and she dropped her gaze to her bump, pulled his hand to press against the curve. He sensed secrecy in her anguished expression, and knew then that honesty had faltered in recent days. But in what respect, he did not know.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I...I haven't really been honest with you."

Before he could question this admission, she turned to the midwife as she re-entered the room, smiling to announce her presence.

"Is it normal that she hasn't been kicking?"

Chris's heart plummeted through his chest, chock overwhelming. She had never asked for his hand to feel kicks, and he had never questioned it. He did not know when they usually began, and had assumed that things were simply progressing as normal.

"You're twenty-four weeks, correct?"

Jill nodded, and the ringing in Chris's ears grew louder. The midwife frowned a little, placed her hand against Jill's bump.

"I wouldn't worry too much," she explained, pulling her hand away when nothing could be felt. "Every pregnancy is different. Last week one of my patients gave birth to a healthy baby boy who didn't start kicking noticeably until she was at almost twenty-eight weeks. Have you been feeling general movement? It should feel a little like butterflies."

"Yes. She moves around a lot, but no kicking. Nothing forceful."

"Oh, in that case..." the midwife laughed in obvious relief. "As long as you can feel her, I really wouldn't worry. Some babies just aren't that active. But her heartbeat is strong and she's growing well. If, however, her movements become less frequent, you need to come and see me."

Her words did little to placate Chris, but he saw Jill's chest fall, felt her grip his hand tightly.

And his eyes were drawn again to the screen for the split-second before the machine was unplugged. Such a small, fragile body. So much could go wrong, and while she remained inside her mother there was not a damn thing they could do to protect her.

* * *

**_December 9, 2009. 2:30pm. 504 Tower View Apartments. Washington, D.C._**

Claire sighed as her call once again cut through to Chris's machine. Eight calls in a row, and still nothing.

"You know who this is," she told the tone. "Call me when you get this."

Leon caught the phone as she tossed it to the sofa, flopping down where it would have landed moments later.

"They could be out shopping, you know," he told her in a failed attempt at reassurance.

She shrugged, reaching for his hand when he did not offer an arm. Yet again, on the rare occasion that they were afforded time to spend together, her concentration lay with her family. She did not know if Leon minded, had not considered to ask him.

'There is something very wrong with that,' she realised.

Turning to take in his expression, she noticed that he had moved to resume his engrossment in some comedy show on the television, feeling that his fingers were now entwined with hers. She had thought that as time passed, it would be easier for her to accept that she would never hear his love spoken aloud. At first, it had truly not meant that much to her. Though his outward expression did not scream romance, she felt it in everything that he did for her. And when they made love, she was sure in those moments that she was the only woman in the world he cared about. Now that sex had become a part of their relationship, she still found that he was content simply holding her.

But something nagged at her, and the more she ignored it, the more forceful it became.

"I went to see Jill this morning, you know," she announced, breaking through her own thoughts.

"I figured," he smiled, turning once again to her. "If you're not with me on your day off you're either with her or Chris."

The intensity of his gaze threw her off, and she leaned back, focusing on the hand that held hers.

"I let myself in," she continued. "And...I startled her. I know that's not difficult to do these days but Leon, she was so scared! Something is bothering her and I know she's not talking to Chris about it. Every since they announced the pregnancy he has been so stupidly ignorant of everything around him."

She had always known that Chris would react strongly to a pregnancy he had instigated, but his bliss was dangerous. He cared too much for Jill, and it wore on his psyche at times, but now that the baby was part of the equation, he had been attentive in all the wrong ways. Dividing his worry between mother and child had become exhausting.

"If you're really that worried, why don't we talk to Rebecca?" Leon asked quietly, concern now evident in his eyes. "She knows more about this psychological stuff than we do, and she lives closer to them; she is in a perfect position to help."

But Claire knew that it wasn't that simple. If Jill truly was relapsing, nothing could be done until she herself sought help. With her stubborn streak back with a vengeance, they all knew that this would never happen.

A soft kiss brought her thoughts to a more pleasant place, the warmth of his touch exhilarating.

"He's your brother, not your kid," he reminded her. "He is thirty-six years old; he can take care of himself and his family. Please don't stress yourself out over this."

Somehow, his words brought calm to her thoughts and she sighed as she leaned against him. The television died as he raised the remote, casting it aside a moment later to wrap both of his arms around her. The silence was beautiful, her heart settling into a slow and steady rhythm. It was moments like these she felt she could get used to; just her and Leon, nothing else...nobody else.

"You want to lie down?"

The thought was appealing to her, even more so when she knew that he would join her. Sleep was always peaceful in his arms.

She allowed him to stand, watching as he walked to the kitchen presumably for a glass of water.

"Do you think she's going to be okay?" she asked. She simply could not relax without knowing.

"Of course," Leon chuckled back. "She's a damn juggernaut."

Claire smiled, laughing quietly to herself though her thoughts erred to the sombre side.

"I know that," she called through. "But I'm not talking about Jill; I'm talking about the baby. Is it crazy that I'm acting the part of overbearing aunt already?"

She heard his footsteps as he walked back through, handing her a small glass. He knew that she would not relax unless there was a glass of water within arm's reach, even if she did not drink from it.

"With parents like hers, I wouldn't doubt her wellbeing for a second."

She saw the ironic truth in his words and smiled. How she ever could have doubted it was absurd. If her niece inherited but a sliver of her parents' strength, she would be okay. And with their love and constant care, there was no reason to doubt that her potential would be limited.

"So much worrying about other people's children," Leon spoke. "Have you never thought about your own?"

His question hit her in an unexpected place, old fear rising. She had not thought about marriage or children since her relationship with Leon climbed a rung higher. They were concepts that still seemed so far away, yet she was aware of her age and of the speed with which the last eleven years of her life had passed. She could blink and she would be forty, pacing the waiting room of a fertility clinic.

'I don't even know what age mom hit the menopause,' she realised. 'She didn't live long enough...isn't it okay for me to worry?'

Recent memories plagued her, and suddenly laying down with Leon was the last thing she wanted to do. She felt sick to her stomach, terrified from concern that had been misplaced.

"I...I should go," she coughed. Leon protested, but she blocked out his words. "I'm sorry...I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

It was raining when she stumbled out into the street, but she let the droplets wash over her, relishing the cold December chill.

'Here we go again.'

* * *

**_December 10, 2009. 1:07am. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

_Jill picked at the restraints against her wrists, worn leather flaking beneath her nails. The gloves were gone, the skin beneath a painful shade of neglect. She did not feel like herself these days._

_"You think you are special?" Excella taunted, confident yet maintaining her distance. "You mean nothing to him."_

_"And neither do you," she croaked. "He does not have the capacity to care about anyone but himself and his agenda. One day, you'll see."_

_Excella's tanned features became expressionless; it was evident that the thought had crossed her mind. Once again, in her love-struck obsession, she had attempted to convince herself otherwise...and apparently succeeded._

_As Wesker returned, she left indignantly, brushing past him in the doorway. He did not flinch, did not even register her presence._

_"Do you know what day it is?" he asked. Rhetoric burned through his words. He knew she would not answer him. "Today is December 29th - happy birthday, Jill."_

_The smirk returned as he spoke these words, taking great pleasure in the tease. The realisation carved through her, forced the remaining air out of her lungs. The bed beneath her suddenly seemed hard, the wall to her back painfully cold. Even in the bright light that illuminated the small lab, Wesker appeared bathed in shadow._

_"How...how old am I?" she asked._

_"Forty-three."_

_She choked on his response. The passage of time was unknown to her, but forty-three seemed young compared to what it had felt like. She did not know any better._

_"You're lying," she accused._

_It came as an insult to him, and she cowered as he stepped closer, each breath that he inhaled urging her to take back her words. But he was calm when he responded, expressionless as always._

_"And what makes you think that?"_

_The answer was painful for her to admit, but she felt compelled to speak it. It was futile to hope that her words would affect him, but hope she did._

_"When you pour so much of yourself into someone, it's difficult to hide things from them," she told him._

_"An interesting observation," he noted. "But please, don't compare yourself to me. I'm afraid I may vomit."_

_Because she was nothing. She was a roach that scurried around the facility, unclean and despicable._

_"But you do have your uses."_

_Tears carved through the dirt on her cheeks. For a moment, she considered begging for freedom again, but knew that he would only roll his eyes and ignore her._

_"Uroboros is a strange creation," he spoke as he drew up a chair before her. "It is extremely selective. I estimate that no more than a couple million worldwide will successfully adapt. Which brings me to the issue of how to repopulate this...hideous world."_

_He removed his shades, resting them on the thin mattress beside her. She could not look him in the eye, never could. There was nothing about this man that was remotely human, and that terrified her. Because he could do anything to her; his cruelty knew no limits._

_"Uroboros is designed in a way that eliminates procreation between the New Breed," he explained, as casually and surely as though he were reading from a textbook. "Sadly, the foetus would mutate out of control; it is too volatile to survive. What we need is a parent whose body is capable of...neutralising the aggressive nature of the virus. Antibodies."_

_Jill felt hollow, catching on to his meaning before he twisted it into words. After all, her body was his to do with what he will. She never had any choice in the matter._

_"You would only be the first, of course," he continued coldly. "Each child you produce will possess these antibodies, and be capable of successful procreation. But you _will_ be the first; the Eve to a thousand Adams."_

_The chill reached her lungs, her sobs became audible. She would never be free, even when the world crumbled around her. Perhaps she would die in childbirth? Left to bleed out in agony as her child was passed to the father she had seduced. The nightmare would plague her until that moment, she knew that much. Her own personal hell, crafted by a man without a conscience._

_For years she had thought herself incapable of bearing child, had wished for nothing but the ability to create life with the man she loved. Now that the obstacle had been removed from her path, the ability was to be used as a weapon. Would her mind still function at this time? Would she be forced to knowingly face her fate?_

_"Who knows?" Wesker laughed. "Maybe you will have your reunion with Chris. Your child would be an interesting one indeed."_

Jill woke with a jolt, hair clinging to damp cheeks. She reached over, needing to feel Chris's warmth...but felt nothing.

The room became familiar, from the blinds to the television that sat in a bracket in the corner. Hospital. Realisation dawned upon her, and she lay back onto her pillows with a sigh.

She preferred the nightmares to the memories; at least the nightmares were fiction. Memories left her shaking with the realisation that it was a hell she had faced. Now, she could see them as torturous moments that she had lived through, but that did not stop the tears that occasionally surfaced.

It was a shame that Chris was not here, she concluded. Watching him sleep always put her in the mood for dreams.

'And when was the last time you had one of those?'

She considered her pregnancy dreams, wondered if any could be considered as such. They had varied from the sweet yet odd to the downright disturbing. But then she would wake, and the reason for the madness would flicker back into focus.

'I never thought it would turn out this way.'

Her thoughts turned to the hypothetical, wondering how life would have been had Wesker succeeded. Would he have returned to claim her? Would Chris have died on the jet? His threat had come only three months before her rescue, but for those three months she had feared pregnancy, had spent her conscious hours considering ways that she could prevent such an atrocity ever occuring. That her child was Chris's made all the difference in the world. After the trauma of the past eleven years, she would not trust any other man with either her heart or her body.

'Stop dwelling on the past,' she warned.

She reached to the bedside table, eyes on the jug of water that had been left at her request. But her fingers brushed against something foreign; a leaf of folded paper. Curiously, she caught it between fingertips and brought it to a position that allowed her to scrutinise it. Inked words were visible through the thin paper, and she unfolded it with haste. Chris had sent her endless text messages after visiting hours ended, ceasing only when she notified him of her need to sleep. Had he left a note with the nurses?

**_'Did you think you would ever truly be free?'_**

The handwriting was not Chris's, was not familiar to her eyes. But the words chilled her core, enough that the note slipped through her fingers.

Unsteady hands rose to her face, consideration for her unborn all that kept her calm. And without a sound, she folded the paper, placed it back onto the table and turned on her side.

She could not see it, did not need to recognise her presence.

'It's a dream,' she convinced herself. 'It's not real; I'm imagining this.'

But even she doubted the assumption.

* * *

**_December 10, 2009. 2:00am. Arlington, VA._**

Chris could not sleep. He had tried pacing, had tried watching television...had even tried lifting the weights in their basement for a short while. His body ran on empty, but his mind could not rest. It was the first night he had spent away from her since the miscarriage, and unpleasant associations were inevitable.

He did not even know where he was, a midnight drive taking him to a park several miles from home. But it was quiet, peaceful, and that was exactly what he needed right now.

'They are going to be okay,' he repeated to himself, smiling at the unintentional thought of 'they'.

For once their problems were 'normal'; kidney infections were nothing to worry about, or so Rebecca had claimed.

The girl had a name. Weeks of deliberation had amounted to nothing, and a casual suggestion on his behalf had been accepted with much enthusiasm. He did not know what had put the name in his mind, but it was now hers. Of course, neither parent dared announce it until the birth. They wanted their daughter to be the first to know.

The swing sets were empty at this hour, paving the way for fabricated scenes. There was no doubt that the girl would be spoiled; there were so many that loved her already. The growth of his biological family pulled his adopted one together, excitement shared as though the child belonged to them all.

"Chris Redfield, awake and sober at this hour? I never would have called that."

The youthful voice caught his attention, and he turned just in time to witness her lower herself to the bench at his side, respectful distance kept. She could have been no older than nineteen, tanned with a full head of bouncy black curls.

"I'm sorry," he frowned. "Do I know you?"

She laughed quietly, leaning back onto the wooden planks.

"Your sister didn't recognise me, either," she sighed. "I can't have changed that much."

Something struck him as familiar, something hidden behind those hazel eyes. Her accent was not American; an obscure British twang bore tones of Spanish...neither clued him in further as far as her identity was concerned.

"I suppose it has been…almost seven years," she mused. "We met in Paris…you saved my life. I seemed to have a penchant for getting into trouble, and you were always there to pull me right back out of it."

Pieces of fragmented memory slid together, formed a picture...and then something clicked.

"Gabriella?" he questioned in disbelief. "Gabriella Romero?"

Her nod and smile were unnecessary; it was clear to him now. It had been September, 1998, when he had first met Gabriella and her mother. An ex-Umbrella researcher, Alejandra Benítez-Romero had taken her daughter to Europe to escape retribution for her refusal to accept a role in her employers' illegal doings. They had finally caught up with her, had found Gabriella, dragged her off the streets. Chris had only emerged from his hideout to post a letter that day, but the girl's screams brought him to her aid. As luck would have it, Alejandra was, at the time, a member of a small anti-Umbrella movement. Over the years, he had become good friends with the other members, and somewhat of a surrogate father to a young Gabriella. They had lost contact with many of the others following Umbrella's fall, though he had heard through the grapevine that Alejandra and Gabriella had moved to England to start a new life.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, a smile twisting his lips. He had grown quite fond of the girl in a more complicated time, as had Jill; she climbed high up their ist of priorities in such a short stretch of time. "Didn't you move to London?"

"Oxford, actually," she explained with a yawn. "Then mama was offered a job up north, so we moved. I've been attending MIT; believe it or not, I'm actually quite intelligent these days. I was visiting family a couple of months back and ran into Claire; I figured you were living nearby so I've been coming back every chance I get, hoping to run into you."

He rolled his eyes, but knew that he should have expected no less from her. She was more of a troublemaker than his sister, and it was a trait that often only became more apparent with age.

"So…seven years," she smiled. "A lot can happen in that time. Please tell me you're with Jill now."

And his protective nature flared, urging him to order her away. But reason whispered to him, reminding him that he could trust this girl, that she understood the importance of family more than anyone.

"We're engaged," he revealed, unable to hide the joy from his voice. "And…she's expecting."

"No shit?" Gabriella laughed. "Congratulations!"

Silence fell between them. For all the time that had passed since their last meeting, he could not think of a single word to say to her. All he wanted to talk about these days was Jill and the baby, but the desire to protect both girls had sworn him to secrecy.

"I heard about what happened to her," she spoke in a soft, sympathetic tone. "Don't look so surprised; it made international news. It's…nice to hear that things are looking up for her. I can't begin to imagine how difficult these past nine months have been for her."

Comfort was drawn from her words; the blissful realisation that someone understood, and did not merely assume. 'Jill is strong, she'll cope just fine'. Even the strongest minds could be broken, and he believed that some people were simply incapable of understanding this. If that was not the case, she would have been offered a support system far greater than what she had received upon her return to the states. But the passive acceptance of 'Jill Valentine is tough enough to overcome anything' had ensured that she was left to cope alone for the most part.

"It hasn't been easy," he admitted. "But we're together, we're happy, and we have the baby to look forward to now. Things are looking up."

She seemed to understand the implication of his words. Umbrella was gone, and Wesker was truly dead this time; this life was their own to mould, with no unwritten rules, no need to run and hide.

"You're being followed, you know."

Thoughts jumped again, and he looked around uneasily, eyes finally settling on the girl to his right.

"Why are you here?" he demanded, suddenly nervous and suspicious. "It's the middle of the night."

She blushed in the darkness, tanned cheeks turning a warm shade of plum.

"I was out having a few drinks with some friends - fake ID; don't judge me, I'm legal back home - and I happened to see you sitting here as we walked home. I wanted to say hi so I told them to go on without me. Then, I just happened to notice the pick up truck over there."

With a quick glance over his shoulder, he caught sight of the vehicle in question, the driver thoroughly engrossed in a broadsheet – or so it seemed.

"I watched him for about twenty minutes and he has not once turned the page," she explained in a low voice. "But he does keep looking up, towards you."

Followed. He could not help but flash back to the days in Raccoon, when the remaining members of S.T.A.R.S. had been closely monitored by the company they sought to expose. But why was he being watched now? Were the others experiencing similar scrutiny?

"Shit," he growled, adopting the mind frame of the trained soldier within. "If we move, he'll follow. Don't go anywhere, stay with me."

"Honey, I've been taking lessons in Krav Maga since I was eleven," she chuckled quietly. "This girl can handle herself. Plus, I let the air out of his tires on my way in, and siphoned out most of his gas. Seems he was too focused to notice."

Amusement overwhelmed unease for a moment, and he looked on her with pride before realising that it was no way to react to what he had just heard. Had it been his own daughter who had made this admission, she would be grounded without allowance for a week.

"Let's keep that part from your mom," he suggested. "Come on."

Quietly, they rose from the bench, striding nonchalantly towards the Nova. They both noticed the newspaper fold as Chris checked the backseat before opening the passenger door and helping Gabriella inside. As he buckled his seatbelt, the shuddering rev of a dying engine could be heard, and Gabriella's giggles encouraged a smile.

The park faded into the distance behind them, the truck's engine spitting obscenities into the night. There was no chance that he would follow them now, but Chris still drove for a little while before following her directions, just in case. Though she insisted that he let her out at the end of the street after keying her number into his cell, he waited until she was safely indoors before he continued on his way. Paternal instinct, it seemed, was contagious.

Sleep did not come easily to him when he returned home, checking every room of the house just to be sure. And he slid an old combat knife beneath the pillows on Jill's side of the bed, a loaded handgun on the floor beneath the frame. Paranoia was not a pleasant feeling, and his guilt robbed him of a good night's sleep as he recalled how he had insinuated that it had gripped his beloved.

Concern for her remained at a peak as he visualised the truck, scolding himself for not recording the plates.

'If they were following you, they could have been following her,' he realised. 'You were so quick to dismiss her suspicion – would you have reacted any differently had her history of mental health been any different?'

It was a shameful thought, one that brought guilt down upon him like an anvil. She trusted him blindly with every part of her, yet he could not trust her word?

'She deserves better than this,' he told himself, grim. 'What kind of husband are you shaping up to be? What kind of _father_?'

And with this thought, fatigue shamefully abandoned him.

**AN - Please review :)**


	13. If It Means a Lot to You

**AN** - Apologies for the late update. Exhaustion and writer's block struck hard, and I'm amazed that this chapter ended up as long as it is - I thought it would be one of the shortest yet. The latter part went through a lot of re-writes, especially the last scene. Major thanks again to _xSummonerYunax_, without whom this update would likely still be a little way off. Honestly, what would I do without you, girl? . Also a strange sense of inspiration for the last scene was Bobby Singer line: "They're supposed to make you miserable, that's why they're _family_!". I find it continually odd where I'm drawing it from these days lol. This chapter is just a filler, but we will be jumping back into the action very soon.  
Chapter title comes from a song by A Day To Remember.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed: _x-Artichoke-x, tek, Kenshin13, Black Metalmark, Ryoko Metallium, xSummonerYunax, Ninja-Gnome_ and _Ultimolu_. Thank you once again for your continued support! It really, truly means a lot. I'm hoping to get another oneshot out soon, which I will probably be working on along with the next update. It's the third addition to the prequel series for a story idea I have (the other two being Corrosive and Mea Maxima Culpa...check them out! ^_^) and it's focused on Chris and Jill. Keep an eye out for it, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Twelve - _**_If It Means A Lot To You_

_'Even though you mean so much to me,_  
_I can't wait through everything.'_

**_December 25, 2009. 8:00am. 19 Meadow Hills Apartments. Arlington, VA._**

Rebecca rolled over in her bed, tangled in the sheets. It was cold outside, but warm where she lay.

"Morning."

She locked eyes with him, the warmth spreading to her soul, smile threatening to split her face in two. He said nothing more, simply moved to catch her lips. And the kiss was sweet, lulling her back into peaceful sleep. The pads of his fingers brushed her cheek, large hand framing her face.

"Mmm, stop it!" she protested with a giggle that betrayed her projected indifference.

But as always, Billy's eyes glistened, broke her façade. His smile was so casual, yet she pulled a thousand compliments from its brilliance.

And then his hand wandered, tracing the now-familiar bath to her swollen abdomen, his touch eliciting gentle movements from the child within.

"Have I ever told you how much pregnancy suits you?" he purred. "And I didn't think you could get any cuter."

"Cute?" she questioned, grinning from ear to ear. It was, she realised, perhaps the happiest moment she had ever seen, yet its kin often appeared each morning. So routine, yet so...enthralling. "You think I'm 'cute'?"

"I speak my mind," he shrugged. "And if you only spoke yours, I'd hear how rugged you think I am, how I just _ooze_ raw sexual energy."

"Oh my God," she laughed. She fell into him, burying her head into his shoulder.

He was warm, almost too warm. And he did not wear a shirt to bed, simply displayed his impressive musculature for the world to see. Or, as in Rebecca's case, ogle.

"I never tire of waking next to you," he sighed, stroking her bump absent-mindedly.

Suddenly, his presence did not feel real to her. But she ignored the pull of what she did not understand, pulled him into a kiss. His hair fell onto her face, brushed against her cheeks. He was quite unlike the men she had previously dated. She had found, with much dismay, that she rarely attracted the muscular type. It was always the career-minded, too 'mature' to truly enjoy a relationship. But Billy...Billy was different. He was older, yet younger in personality. He treated her like a princess but teased her equally.

And now, she had him. Now she had everything.

_"Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothin' at all."_

Her hand thwacked against the radio as she spun, waking almost violently from her slumber.

Tangled in her sheets, Rebecca reached down, sliding her fingers over her exposed abdomen. Flat, toned. The bed was empty save for her, and she jumped again as the radio switched itself on again.

"Stupid fucking thing," she growled, switching off the alarm.

It was early still, but she knew that she would not sleep. And then she glanced at the date, visible on the display of her clock radio.

_December 25._

She felt Billy's breath on her ear, as though he were more than just a product of an unfair dream. His memory haunted her, his death playing on her mind more than she knew it should. Was she truly that lonely?

'It's not loneliness,' she realised with a weary sigh. 'It's him. He did more for you in one night than any other man has, period.'

It was a night that she did not like to remember, but the horror became a little less frightening when she considered him.

'What about Chris? He helped you. He helped you for five years.'

She shuddered at the thought. He was like a brother to her, and considering him in the same frame of mind as Billy felt almost like incest. But why she considered Billy in any way other than fond remembrance still escaped her. She did not want to dwell on his memory, but could not help it.

With another glance to the clock, she knew that she should rise. She had presents to open, family to call, and she needed to be at Chris and Jill's by twelve. The Burtons usually hosted Christmas lunch, but the nesting instinct had hit the mother-to-be and, along with it, the desire to 'practice' for future events.

Truthfully, all she felt in the mood to do was roll over and forget all about Christmas.

But thoughts of Billy made way for a sense of urgency, and she rolled heavily out of bed.

* * *

**_December 25, 2009. 10:20am. Location unknown._**

Billy woke tasting copper. He did not know exactly when he had passed out, knew only that the pain had begun as soon as he had opened his eyes.

Their questions were more insistent this time. Where had he hidden the data? Who knew of the data? He had nothing to gain by telling them, had nothing to lose by keeping schtum.

He was used to pain, but his body was giving up. In the time he had to himself, he could barely move. He was never getting out of here.

"Just go," one of them said, voice low but still audible. It was possible that they did not suspect his state of awareness.

"You think it's that easy?" the second growled. "I should be with my family."

Somewhere in the distance, laughter,

"He's not going to talk. You might as well go home and be with your wife."

'Please go home,' Billy begged, silent as droplets of blood fell from his lips. His hair was matted, sight impaired in one eye; it had doubtlessly swollen shut. Rest was what he needed, but he knew that he would not receive peace until they left.

"They won't let me."

"Actually, they told me to dismiss you for the day. For once, they are in a good mood."

"Oh."

The final word was spoken with laughter, and the quiet understanding of something that struck Billy as sinister.

"The plan is on schedule. Besides, they don't care much for the data anymore. It's obviously well hidden and as long as it remains so, we have nothing to worry about."

"So he didn't pass it on?"

If there was an inch of him with enough feeling to freeze, it froze.

"If he did, there's a good chance the recipient doesn't know what they have. Our intel guys are looking into his contacts. He has a long, colourful past; we need to look into every name."

Pain ebbed away, his troubled heart straining to beat. In even the most bullet-proof plan, there was always one detail that remained unattended to, one detail the artist had considered irrelevant. Billy could see now that his flaw was almost catastrophic. Her name would ring alarm bells, and the extent of her involvement in his life would draw them straight to her.

It was not the loss of the data that frightened him. In his weakened state, he saw what his strong, stubborn self had failed to acknowledge; that he had placed her in danger.

And as his eyes closed to the darkness ushered forth by the slam of his cell door, he felt shame descend.

If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

* * *

**_December 25, 2009. 11:45am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

She did not know how she had managed to lift herself onto the kitchen bench, but there she was. And he remained trapped between her thighs, pushed up against her as far as her bump would allow. Their tongues wrestled fiercely, breaths panted amidst groans of varying volumes.

A fire seemed to burn between her legs, and she wanted him closer to it, wanted him _touching_ her, not simply holding her. The tenderness of her breasts did nothing to stop her from pressing them against his chest, enveloped by hard muscle as she leaned further into him.

She could _feel_ him in every inch of her body, savoured the taste of him on her tongue.

"Mmph, Jill," he protested, taking advantage of the split-second in which her lips didn't not claim his own. "We-"

She didn't want to hear it. Passion burned through her veins, and all she knew was that she wanted him closer, wanted him shirtless and pressed up against her. Fingernails scraped down his back, a hand sliding down until it slipped beneath the back of his jeans.

"Jill!"

He proved too strong this time and pulled back out of the kiss. But she continued to cling to him, the pads of her fingers brushing across his bicep. Never before had she noticed how small her hand seemed next to his bulging muscles; never before had she cared. But today, something drew her attention to the hard curves, to his broad shoulders and the thickness of his hair.

"We need to get back," he spoke firmly, against what she could see raging in his eyes. "We...have guests."

He barely choked out his last words as she claimed his lips again. She was sure that her own were starting to bruise, filled with the sensation that she was attempting to suck the life out of him. But she could not help it any more than she could help the hips that gravitated towards his of their own accord, impeded only by her bump. The second round of morning sickness had begun to ebb, and in its wake rode an army of lustful emotions. Quite frankly, she was hornier than a damn teenager.

"Come on," she purred. "Will they really notice if we are gone for ten minutes?"

She knew that she was winning the battle as he held her tighter, groaning into the kiss.

"We...can't," he mumbled between kisses. "Don't...get me...wrong...I love this...new side of you. But baby, I'm...having trouble...keeping up."

Chris took the opportunity to pull back as she grinned, and used what little strength his own lust had left him with to keep her at half-arm's length. It was easier said than done; natural strength seemed to be emphasised by pregnancy.

"Later," he promised. "If we screw this up, it will be the last time they come over for Christmas lunch."

Christmas. The simple sound of the word sent sparks throughout her body. It was the first since her rescue, the first he had celebrated in years. And she celebrated it surrounded by her friends and family, engaged and pregnant when she had once thought that neither would be possible. Maybe it was the season or the cheer that seemed to be shoved down their throats, but on this day she felt immensely blessed.

"I don't care," she laughed, allowing her libido to settle. "I would be happy just curling up on the sofa with you. Simply being here is enough."

She watched his expression darken as he understood her meaning, pressed his lips to her forehead in a reassuring display of love.

"Don't pity me," she warned. "For once, I feel unbelievably happy. Last Christmas, I had nothing, and now..." She dropped her eyes to her bump, moving her hand from his waist to her own curves. "Now, I have everything. I guess it's a little...overwhelming."

The gentle nuzzling of his nose against her skin drove her senses wild. But she fought them, urging herself not to ruin a tender moment.

To her surprise, he kissed her, passionate despite her initial lack of response. His biceps flexed beneath her touch, tongue teasing hers almost painfully. Desperation returned and she pushed her chest up into his, hoping that she would win this battle of wills. He was more than willing to comply, and finally seemed ready, finally edged closer to her, giving in to her touch.

"Oh my God!"

He pulled back suddenly, and her eyes shot to the doorway, watching as Claire spun with a hand over her eyes, fumbling for the doorway with the other.

"At least wait until after we've eaten!" she pleaded, stepping blindly back into the dining room.

The interrupted moment brought Jill to a fit of giggles, but Chris remained as a deer in headlights, turning back only when Jill placed a hand on his cheek.

"We really should get back," he suggested. With a nod and one final peck on the lips, she agreed, and gripped his shoulders tightly as he lifted her down from her perch.

Familiar discomfort settled in the base of her spine as she adjusted herself, but she kept the ache to herself. It was to be expected, but Chris would worry if he knew. He seemed to believe that pregnancy was a wonderful period of joy and added curves. If only he knew the truth of the swollen ankles, gas and the general feeling of being the size of a small blimp. Exercise had done nothing to subdue the size of her bump, with her waistline expanding far faster than either of them had expected. So much so that her first words to the midwife during their last appointment had been "Are you sure there's only one in there?".

But with the size and the passing days came the worry at the lack of gymnastics their pregnant neighbour had begun to feel weeks ago. Only three days remained before the midwife had requested she submit herself for further tests.

Before she could collect her thoughts, Chris's hand appeared against the swell, warm and gentle in its touch.

"Next Christmas, we'll have her," he laughed, more to himself than out of amusement. "Call me crazy, but I have already started to think of what to buy her."

Her heart skipped at his words, but her mind immediately scolded it. Not getting ahead of themselves was a rule she had begun to take to heart.

And then Chris's eyes darted away from hers, sadness settling in.

"She's still not kicking?"

A slow nod was the only answer she could offer. How could she tell him that her movements had slowed in recent days? He would only worry, and she worried enough for the whole family.

"It's Christmas," she reminded him. "Let's just focus on that for today."

With worried hesitation, he nodded and rested his forehead against hers for a brief moment.

"I love you," he whispered. He said that a lot these days, more than he should. Sometimes it felt as though he were reinforcing the point, as though there were a silent 'but' that followed.

So she withheld the return this time, smiled before placing a kiss on his nose and urging him to leave.

'This doesn't feel right.'

Happy Families was never a game she had been given the opportunity to play in the past, but it seemed so surreal to her now. Something did not click; an impending sense of something she did not understand. Perhaps it was simply pessimism? The belief that something bad lurked just around the corner was not an absurd one to fall to.

It was not long before Claire and Rebecca joined her, offering to help with the remainder of the cooking. She had misjudged the size of the turkey, and as such there was at least another half hour before lunch was ready to be served.

Rebecca seemed skittish from the moment she stepped through the door, eyeing her bump with interest this time, and not merely the brooding glance of a lonely woman.

"Are you okay, honey?" she asked.

It was a stupid question, really; her expression told all that needed to be known.

"When is she due?"

Jill glanced down out of habit, as though the date were scrawled against the peak of the curve.

"March...twenty-first, I think," she answered with a smile. "Too far away."

The younger girl hummed her acknowledgement, before sighing and ruffling her hair. She considered reaching for her, offering support she would dare not ask for, but dared not when she did not know the reason behind her discomfort.

"It's your damn pregnancy," she laughed. "I've...started having dreams about _me_ being pregnant. Stop laughing! It's not funny."

But Jill thought otherwise, and pulled her friend in for an embrace.

"Oh, Becky," she laughed. "Trust me - your dreams can't be half as strange as mine are right now. Last night, I dreamt that I ate the entire house - Chris included!"

The admission did elicit a laugh, but something told her that the fantasy pregnancy was not all that was on her mind today.

That was Rebecca's problem; she thought about things far too much. She could not simply push them aside and accept them for what they were. She always felt the need to analyse every detail of every event.

"It's not the pregnancy," she sighed. "It's...who the father was."

Intrigued, Jill pulled her a further step away from an oblivious Claire, offering what little privacy she could. Rebecca had given up on dating in recent months - was this imagined father the reason behind her sudden shyness?

"Do you remember Billy Coen?"

She did, but barely. The medic had filed a report on his death shortly after their return from the Arklay mansion, and in recent years had admitted that it was a fabrication, that Billy Coen remained alive and well but was innocent of the crimes he was accused of. Jill said nothing, not even to the others. Quite simply, it was none of their business and she knew for a fact that Chris would not have reacted as positively as she had.

"Your phantom father is Billy Coen?"

Rebecca nodded sheepishly, fidgeted with the sleeves of her sweater.

"His name was cleared a few years back, but...he died in a house fire. Isn't that ridiculous? Pining over a dead guy? I guess I always go for the ones I can't have."

With a sudden rush of sympathy, Jill pulled her into another embrace, urging her to cry if she felt the need. And then Claire's hand appeared on her shoulder, concern etched into every line of her face.

"Hey," she whispered, evidently having overheard the conversation. But it seemed that she could find nothing more to offer, and she looked hopelessly to Jill for the words they always knew that she would have.

But where were they now?

"Forget it," Rebecca groaned, effectively bringing an end to her gloom. "It's Christmas!"

Jill frowned, and though Claire moved back to tend to the pan on the stove, she remained with their friend.

"It could be love," she theorised. "But you could just be lost to the ideal. You're longing for something you can't have and-"

"This is the one relationship I can't screw up?"

It was not quite what she had intended to say, but she recognised the truth in Rebecca's words. She had a nasty habit of sabotaging every relationship she found herself in. Jill knew, because she had once been like that. And the last relationship she had sabotaged had ended because of her love for Chris - a love she apparently did not see at the time.

"It's okay if you love him," she whispered. "But you can't let that sabotage your future. If he was alive..."

Rebecca nodded knowingly, and waved a hand to signal that the conversation had gone far enough. She was on the brink of tears; anyone could see. And though Jill longed to dole out comfort, she knew that it would be stubbornly rejected.

"Okay, let me at those potatoes!"

Their shoulders brushed as she passed, and she resigned herself to the younger girl's stubbornness.

'I'll find her later,' she vowed.

She left the girls to the vegetables, unable to squeeze comfortably between them at her current girth. Chris flashed a smile in her direction as she passed the others in the lounge, making straight for the presents that remained piled beneath the tree. In her oddly organisational mood, she had already sorted them into piles for each recipient; small piles for each of the guests and slightly larger piles for herself, Chris and the baby. They had expected nothing for the child, but clever minds had worked on the sly and the girl had ended up with the largest pile by far.

"Why do you never ask for help?" Chris sighed as she struggled to gather the gifts in her arms, crouching beside her. She would be too tired to tidy later. "Just take those, I'll get the rest."

She reached for more, but he slapped her hand away playfully, smile not once faltering.

Without waiting for him to follow, she began the trek to the nursery. It was quiet upstairs, the emptiness soothing to her ears. It was not without great effort that she pushed thoughts of crawling into bed for a half hour aside. The bed would be warm, soft; everything she needed.

But it was the nursery she continued on to, lowering the gifts to the bureau. They were mainly toys, with one or two accents for the room. And, surprisingly for the sheer volume of items that littered the half-completed room, there was still a lot to be bought.

A hand rose to the back of her neck, running warm fingertips across tender flesh. Something prickled beneath the skin; a warning sign she could not decipher. She shook it off at first, opening the top drawer of the bureau, socks in hand.

"What the-?"

She reached inside, pressed a hand to the haphazardly-organised items within. Just the previous night, she had organised the drawers, unpacking purchases and folding them neatly. She had not left it in such a state.

The second drawer displayed similar chaos; clothing bunched up and pushed to one side. There was nothing missing, simply a mess that she could not explain.

And then she turned to the remainder of the room, the low whine in her ears slowly ascending to a painful whistle.

"Son of a bitch," she seethed, voice fracture by unshed tears.

The crib was not where it should have been, toys that had once resided inside now scattered around it in a circular pattern. Her brain denied what her eyes detected, but the sixth sense she had developed as a result of her child told her that it was talking nonsense, that something was out of place and it _was_ of significance.

As she drew closer to the lopsided crib, she noticed the indentations in the carpet that marked where it had once been. And when she bent down to retrieve the toys, her hands shook fiercely. She knew that hers had not been the only pair to touch them, knew that the intent behind movement had not been as loving as hers.

Rage had consumed her by the time she lifted the final toy; a rabbit she pressed possessively to her bosom. And then it fell with the rest, and she was gone, thundering down the hallway and stairs.

"You need to stop this!" she shrieked, startling Chris as he dropped the last of their daughter's presents into a large plastic bag. "The kitchen is one thing, our bedroom is another…but the nursery? The Goddamn _nursery_, Chris!"

Swiping at her nose with the back of her hand, she swallowed the bulk of her anger, but it festered still, choking her. The thought of anyone but herself or Chris touching their daughter's possessions, standing in her room, over her crib...it made her feel physically ill. It painted everything around her in a monochromatic hue.

Barry and Leon had ceased their conversation, Kathy and the girls unsure of where to look. Even the sounds from the kitchen had ceased.

"The drawers are all messed up," she explained, trying her best not to appear hysterical. But it was the only reaction she was capable of. "The toys were scattered everywhere and the crib has moved. This isn't pots and pans, Chris, this is our _daughter_!"

He did not speak at first, but stood silently, processing her words. When she lost his gaze, she sensed the impending argument, sensed his disbelief.

"Jill-"

"Don't cast this aside!" she warned. This was one issue she was not going to let him drop. "Maybe on some level I thought that I was imagining the cutlery, and everything else, but I can't ignore this! Neither of us has been in the nursery since yesterday afternoon and when we left, it was spotless. Furniture doesn't move itself!"

"And you think someone has been in her room?"

The fact that he felt the need to question her claims betrayed his lack of belief. And suddenly, anger was not all that she felt. Shame, fear...mistrust. Emotions that had never before presented with Chris in mind. Emotions she had never _wanted_ to feel towards him.

She had always trusted him blindly with her heart, with her mind and with her body. But it was not her safety that was threatened this time. Family always came first for Redfields, yet his own preconceptions were standing in the way of his daughter's wellbeing.

"You're questioning me?" she asked through clenched teeth. "I'm telling you our daughter's bedroom has been tampered with and you're _brushing me off_?"

The glimpse that he was offered through her eyes turned concern into horror, and the handles of the bag slipped from his fingers. And by the usual process of shock melting into anger, he stepped forward defiantly.

"Jill, I'm not saying that!" He was furious, though showed more restraint than she would have given him credit for.

But her fury clouded every sense that yearned to provide clarity and she stood up to him, giving in to the hormones that had made the past week nothing short of volatile.

"Then _do something_! Her _clothes_ are out of order! You don't-"

Her throat closed to further outbursts and she forcibly steadied her breathing, backing off when he took another step forward. Colour had not yet returned to the world, and the tremors were visibly noticeable now.

"You said that you were being followed," she reminded him. "If you don't believe me after that..."

She had believed that his admission would lead to a greater degree of trust between the two, but her pleas often went unheard. They were absurd, even to her ears. Cutlery rearranged, chairs moved, toiletries not where they should be. They were details that other eyes did not separate from the general buzz of stimuli, but she spent every day around the elements, and even the slightest difference was noticeable.

And what of the phone calls? Several times a day, always when she was alone. There was never a soul on the other end, the number never showing; call-backs always connected her to the other participant in a recent conversation. Paranoia was becoming a daily routine, and the lack of support shown by those around her drove her to the edge of her senses.

At the very least, she had expected Chris to stand by her.

"Everything is as it was last time we were here," Rebecca assured her, briefly signalling to the kitchen. "And I thought you were moving the crib to your bedroom? Maybe-"

"I didn't touch it!" she insisted, and then turned back to her fiancé. "Did you?"

He shook his head solemnly, hands sliding awkwardly into the pockets of his jeans. Perhaps denial was simply easier for him?

'Or you're slipping,' she considered.

Hallucinations, paranoia and growing hysteria were all familiar to her. Several weeks in hospital could not have amounted to nothing.

The rational sliver of her mind told her to drop the idea, to enjoy Christmas and forget about what had happened. But this time, she could not. Not when her child was involved.

"Think rationally, Jill," Chris urged, apparently relinquishing his anger. "It sounds more like a ghost to me."

Suppressed laughter cracked his voice, and the sound shredded her lungs. She could not breathe, could barely stand with the carnage. And then another short, sharp laugh followed, and Polly clasped a hand to her mouth, horrified at herself.

But the damage had been done. She was hurt, humiliated, and the silent apology that he sent her way could not undo his words.

"So this...this is a joke to you?" she choked out, the ringing in her ears now deafening. Her fingers moved of their own accord, tugged the ring from her left hand. "I guess _I'm_ just a joke to you, right? Well, guess what? This ring looks like a fucking joke to me right now."

Jill had never been a spiteful woman, but hormones, as she knew all too well, had a strange way of rewiring the basic programming of one's mind. Fights became childish, tantrums frequent. And when she was hurt, the only reaction she knew was to hurt the offender right back, with added sting if at all possible.

So she threw the ring, watched as it bounced off Chris's chest and landed at his feet.

"She comes first. Above me, above you, above everything. If I can't trust you with her, then I can't be with you."

She did not wait for his reaction, and her words were regretted before her foot had touched the bottom step. But she kept walking, tears beating her to the top.

* * *

Not a word was spoken when Chris left, their mother's ring in hand. Claire did not know if he had followed Jill or simply sought solitude.

Fear for her niece did not compare to fear for her future sister-in-law...for her _friend_. The word 'schizophrenia' had not yet been spoken, but they had all considered it. Relapse was easier than recovery, and previous strength meant naught when they considered what she had been through.

She sought the garden, sought the chill of the air and the crunch of untainted snow beneath her feet. She did not shiver, despite the thin sweater that she wore. She had always loved the snow, ever since she was a child. It was on her fourth Christmas that she and Chris had built their first snowman in the front garden, had decorated it with their father's scarf and an old hat. James had left them to it, watching from the window with his wife as their son carried out all the manual labour, their daughter creating snow angels near the path. When extended family had returned home, she recalled passing the evening in her brother's room, drifting to sleep as she watched him play his new Atari. She had woken in the same position the next morning, wrapped up in his duvet. He had slept in her room that night, afraid to disturb her. Even at ten years old, he had been considerate.

Family Christmases had never held the same appeal since. After the death of their parents, many things became tainted. And when Chris left for the Air Force, the holiday lost all meaning. His appointment in Raccoon had brought her to spend one Christmas alone with him, the following spent with the entire family in Saratoga Springs. It was this Christmas that Jill had met their family, dragged along by her well-meaning partner when he learned of her intended dinner for one. It was clear to all that she had enjoyed her first true family Christmas in years. The fact that she was not part of this family went unnoticed, especially so by their senile Great Aunt Patricia, who had mistaken Chris and Jill for James and Katherine throughout the entire celebration.

'They pulled it off so perfectly,' she reminisced. 'And look at the catastrophe we orchestrated.'

But she would have taken anything over the previous Christmas, with Chris in Afghanistan, not knowing if she would ever see him again. Not knowing if he cared enough to make it home.

The scent of leather and a familiar cologne rushed over her as a jacket was deposited on her shoulders, warmth following.

"You really can't be left alone, can you?" Leon joked. "You'll freeze to death out here."

"That doesn't seem like such a bad way to go," she laughed softly, taking in the crystalline brilliance of the garden. Everything was much simpler now, imperfections hidden by a blanket of light, so that even the weeds twinkled. If only it would snow on their lives, in lieu of the constant ran.

"Rebecca said the turkey is almost done," he sighed. And she knew then what he could not say; that nobody wanted to venture upstairs. Were they destined to celebrate Christmas without Chris and Jill, in their home?

"I'm worried about her," she admitted. "This...this isn't good, right? I mean, it's not just her hormones?"

Leon shrugged, displaying equal concern in his forced smile.

"I don't know. I think...maybe she is just being over-protective of the baby. After all we have been through, can you blame her? Or this _could_ just be her hormones; she is all over the place right now."

His reassurance helped to assuage her fears to a degree, but she was left with the desire to help, in whatever capacity that may be. The only problem was that Jill saw help in many of its forms as interference these days.

"But what about you?"

She dreaded his question, so much so that she shrugged his jacket off in irritation she could not explain.

"Are you going to tell me why you ran out the other week?" he asked. "Or why you have been dodging my calls?"

Sheepishly, she turned to him, regretting the premature return of his offering. Dishonesty never led anywhere, and she knew it.

"I was just...thrown off by you...bringing up children," she explained. "That's all."

A smile and laughter fed into the conversation and he reached forward, offering a different kind of warmth. And he _was_ warm. He was a God damn furnace.

"Love usually comes before children, and we haven't come to a mutual agreement on that one yet," she mumbled. And she would admit that she was a little bitter. Perhaps she was even jealous of her brother, with his seemingly perfect relationship and the pregnancy he had waited his whole life for. But above everything else, she was wary, of both her age and the predicament she seemed to have found herself in.

"I wasn't suggesting anything," he assured her. "I'm happy with you. I'm not ready for children yet...or marriage. Truth be told, I don't know if I ever will be."

Warmth faded, and she pulled back from his embrace.

It was a conversation they had never submitted themselves to, perhaps to her detriment. She had simply assumed that she would marry one day, and recently, had fooled herself into thinking that Leon would be that man.

'He won't even tell you that he loves you,' she realised. 'What made you think that he would want to marry you?'

Her thirtieth birthday had brought with it a lot of regrets, and the realisation that she should be working towards all that she had previously been denied.

"You don't want marriage?" she asked. "Children?"

He held his breath, could not look at her.

"I'm thirty-two," he pointed out. "You're thirty. Should we honestly be thinking about having children right now?"

Would he understand the truth? She was not a teenager anymore; she did not want to mess around. She wanted something real, something that would lead into a great future. Deep down, she knew that Leon was the man for her, but if he could not offer her what she sought...

"I'm not saying that we should be talking about it right now," she defended with arms folded tightly across her chest. "But...I at least want to know that it's in my future. Chris isn't the only one who holds family close to his heart, Leon. I want to get married someday and I want children."

She saw his reaction, knew that he sensed where this was going. But she had a curveball in hand, and knew that there would be no better time to throw it. He needed to know the truth.

"I hade a pregnancy scare," she admitted. "It only resolved a couple of weeks ago, when I finally had the guts to tell Jill and she sat with me while I took the test."

He stumbled a little in the snow as the news hit him. She knew that he would not have reacted well. And what if the test had not been negative? What if she had skipped a period and not simply been late?

"And I realised..." she continued. "As I was sitting next to her, I realised that she was so happy about her pregnancy. It may not have been planned, but she wanted this more than anything. And...there I was..._terrified_. I feel ready for children, but I was so scared of being pregnant because of this relationship. When I walked into the chemist, all I could see was me, raising a child on my own."

To her surprise, he reached out for her arm, smiled as he attempted to draw her close once again. He was supportive without saying a word, and it made the reality that much harder to accept. He was a good guy, and she loved him with all of her heart. But somewhere along the line, doubt had crept in.

"Do you think that a positive would have changed anything?" She knew that he did not expect an answer. "Claire, I would stand by you every step of the way. I wouldn't leave you out in the cold. Just because I'm not ready for children, doesn't mean that I wouldn't acknowledge-"

"It doesn't matter!" she interrupted. She told herself that the nasal quality her voice had adopted was due to the cold. "Will you ever be ready for anything with me?"

"I am ready for _everything_ with you!" He did not miss a beat.

"Do you love me?"

His breath did not appear on the wind this time. Eyes closed against bitterness, features contorted in an expression of pain.

"You can't even commit to the moment," she lamented. "And...I love you, but that's not enough for me."

This was it, the moment she had been dreading. And she hated herself beyond expression for doing it today of all days, but the moment had never been more appropriate.

"The scare made me realise that I have more invested in this relationship than you," she told him. "You work most of the time; I hardly see you. And when I do, you tell me how much you missed me and that's it, you expect things to go back to normal and for me to be content with next to nothing. Trying to get an honest admission out of you is like...drawing blood from a rock. Because that's what you are, Leon: a rock. You're cold, you're distant and nothing gets through to you."

This time, it was she who closed her eyes, and his hands that pulled away.

"We need to talk. Not today, I don't want to do this today. But...soon."

"Are you breaking up with me?" he asked. His words were more painful then the chill of the wind. Years of no emotion, and now the negative flowed freely. Yes, he could hurt...he was hurting now. "Because if you are, just get it over with. Don't play it off for the sake of the holidays."

It was not what she truly wanted, but what she felt that she needed. Time apart...time alone. She would miss him, but surely it would all work out for the best?

"I don't want to break up," she breathed. "But I think we should take a break from each other. Because this isn't enough for me. I'm patient, I really am, but...I can't wait for you to sort out whatever conflict you are still working through. I don't know if it's remnants of Ada, or if it's just me - and quite frankly, I don't want to know. But you need to sort it out if you want this to work. Because I love you. I love you, but I need more. I can't wait forever. Not even for you."

He did not say a word. And it hurt more than the deepest insult.

So cocky, so sure of himself...yet so vulnerable when it came down to it. It had never been her intention to hurt him, but she would keep on hurting until this stopped.

The silence drove him away, his footprints deep in the snow, deeper than hers.

And tears froze on her cheeks.

* * *

Chris did not know how long he had spent pacing the nursery, checking every square inch of the room. Other than a casually messed-up drawer and a crib that could have simply been knocked out of place, there was not a single thing out of the ordinary.

Her words lingered beneath his skin, hooks firmly embedded, it seemed, in his very soul. He even doubted himself for a moment, doubted his abilities as a father.

That was the worst part. Feeling so insecure that for the briefest of moments, he wondered if his daughter would be better off without him. It was perhaps the worst he had ever felt in his life; unworthy in the most degrading sense. He tried to excuse Jill's words in his heart and in his mind, but neither offered anything plausible.

Because the truth was that he was tired of finding excuses for her behaviour. This time, she had gone too far.

When he finally made for their bedroom, it was with this in mind, not the usual urge to comfort.

He faltered at the doorway, silent as her tears fell. Each one stung like a thousand tiny daggers pricking his skin. But then the warped presence of betrayal numbed his senses, numbed his heart.

"That was out of line, Jill," he told her. She jumped at the sound of his voice, swiped at water-filled eyes but did not move.

"Feeling sorry for yourself, huh?" She was a cat with claws bared, scratching without consideration. A wounded animal at best, wanting the world to feel its pain.

But so was he.

"Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?" he yelled. She jumped again, facing him this time. "Or are you so involved in your own misery that you just don't care?"

Hurt was the most powerful motivator, and there was enough to keep him going until the birth.

'The birth of the daughter she doesn't trust you with,' came the bitter reminder.

The reply became lost on her, and she fumed in silence at first, rising to her feet as rage filled her again.

"You're full of shit, Chris," she shot back. "You say you care about family, but what about her? What about _us_? You would rather label me as insane than trust my word, which I came to terms with. But I can't just stand by while you endanger her with your wilful ignorance!"

Each word was dealt as a blow, though calculated or not he did not know. He had never seen her so incensed, never seen her so firmly behind an idea.

He knew that they were delusions, nothing more. She took the simplest mistake and blew it out of proportion. Her claims had no foundation; there was no MO behind the supposed 'criminal' activity. He had wanted to believe her, had given her the benefit of the doubt at first. But as time passed, her ideas turned sinister, and with his admission of being stalked that one night two weeks ago, they had reached new heights. It had been a one-off, an occurrence he now had a million explanations for; it was far more likely that they were following the eighteen-year-old girl who sat with him, could even have been an undercover cop, suspicious of a man alone in a park in the middle of the night.

"That you would even suggest that I could put her in danger is both offensive and hurtful," he pushed. And he was scared, because he could feel his fury reaching a peak, did not know what would happen when it did. He had never been so angry in her presence, never when the emotion was directed at her. Truthfully, he feared what he may do.

"Well add this to cake," she sneered. "I don't feel safe with you anymore. I don't trust you, and I want out of this place. I can't live with you and constantly feel like this. Just being around you is making me so…fucking angry! So...I'm gone."

There was no siren this time, just a flash of red light. Then the calamitous _bang_ as his fist collided with the door, slamming it back into its frame, wood bending around his closed hand. Even he jumped at the sound, Jill's cry tearing through him.

"How could you do this to me?" he roared. "After _everything_ I have done for you? After I stood by you through everything! Do you think that was _easy_ for me? Do you think I didn't go through shit of my own? I didn't sleep for weeks after the miscarriage; when I cried, it had to be at night, when you wouldn't know. All for your sake! And when we got back, when you would spend every night in tears..." His voice faltered against the memory, but he remained determined, pride telling him that it was about time she knew just how much he cared about her. "Before your insurance was reinstated, the BSAA didn't pay for your therapy..._I_ did!"

Her shoulders sagged, each corner of her lips twitching downward. There was no anger left in her eyes, only confusion.

"W-what?"

It was a fact he had never wanted to reveal to her, but here it was, out in the open.

"They wouldn't pay for Dr. Keller," he admitted, voice softer, laden with heartache this time. "They said that they would give a referral but all they could offer was the base psychiatric nurse. They said that she would assess you for free, that she would take care of you. But Keller was the best, nobody came close. I wanted you to receive the best help possible, so I paid for her myself."

He was not sure if she believed his words, but everything that he spoke was the truth. What could a psychiatric nurse do? In their eyes, Jill would be just another shell-shocked soldier. But her issues ran far deeper than that, and her solemn state required expertise that was forceful in its methods while being gentle with the delivery. The BSAA had dealt with the referral, and all bills were paid without ever meeting the woman. But her worth was proven in the improvement he witnessed in his beloved. He regretted not a dime spent.

"But...my insurance didn't cover the treatment," she breathed. "I didn't think to add the extra option until after I'd been diagnosed."

He still did not know exactly how much he had spent on her therapy to date. The treatment alone had taken a sizeable chunk out of his savings. He knew that she would have denied the help had he told her the truth, and so he had remained quiet. The money was nothing; he had not spent a cent in three years. All that he cared about was keeping her safe, nursing her back to health.

"So you need to think before you accuse me of not caring," he growled. "And how _dare_ you deny me my daughter! How _dare_ you suggest that I would stand by while she was at risk! I would die before I put her in danger. The first thing I did when your delusions - because that is what they are - began was check the entire house, top to bottom, and make sure our security was functioning as it should. The fact that you could even entertain the idea that I would let any harm come to her is not just hurtful; it's _insulting_."

She fell to the bed again, hunched over, hands covering her face. All anger seemed to have fallen from her persona, sorrow once again gripping her in its unrelenting hold.

Hormones had caused many problems in her pregnancy. Neither of them could predict what state of mind she would be in at any given time. In his heart of hearts, he hoped that the delusions were simply products of a hectic mind, and would vanish once her body settled and their daughter was finally with them.

With calm descending, he too began to ease, both in body and mind. He did not like raising his voice to her, but all other methods of getting through her stubbornness had failed.

He could see just how seriously she took her thoughts, how real all this was to her. But his admission had shocked her into silence, had-

"Ah!" she cried suddenly, sitting straight, a hand rushing to her bump. He was on his knees before her in seconds, afraid to touch but terrified for so many other reasons.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Are you okay? Is she okay? What's wrong?"

And she laughed, tears drying as she reached for his hand, pressing it against her bump. She said nothing, simply waited. Then he felt it; pressure against his hand. She gasped when it came, and then laughed again, grinning so widely he was amazed that her cheeks did not split.

"Did you feel that?" she gushed.

He had felt it, but what exactly 'it' was, he was unsure. All he knew was that there was not a single trace of negative emotion left within, that the pressure stirred something within him that he did not quite understand.

"She kicked!" Jill laughed. "She's kicking!"

The relief was his this time, and he cried out in his delirium. He pressed his lips to the curve, feeling warmth even through her blouse. The sensation was indescribable, transcended even the emotional.

When he looked to her once more, her smile was missing. And he found himself back in the moment, back in the midst of their fight. But something clicked behind her eyes and she wept in apparent shame, one hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I know that you would never..." She sighed. "I can see how much she means to you. I won't say that I didn't mean to hurt you, because I did, but...forgive me?"

He took her hand in his, kissed it gently. And then he reached into his pocket and held out the ring she had cast away.

"I forgive you," he assured her. "If we didn't fight and forgive, what would we be? Do you want this back?"

She hesitated, but took it regardless, slipped it onto the correct finger. She withheld emotion, likely negative, but so did he, so he said nothing.

"I'm not going crazy," she defended meekly. "I know what I saw. I've spoken to Dr. Keller about it and she assessed me again; she said I'm not relapsing, and nothing else has presented. So I know that this is not all in my head."

He could have argued, and boy did he want to. But he thought it best to leave things as amicable as they were, at least until she had calmed down.

"It might not be in your head," he sighed. "But you are thinking about this all wrong. Either way, you have nothing to worry about. One day, you'll see."

"It hurts that you don't believe me," she rushed; desperate it seemed to make her thoughts heard while she still possessed the courage. "And that you humiliated me."

"And it hurts that you don't trust me," he returned. "That you think I am a bad father is the most hurtful thing anyone has ever said to me."

"I never said that!"

"But you implied it. And I know in some way that you meant it. We have to stop doing this, Jill; we have to stop tearing each other apart when the going gets tough. It didn't matter so much in the past that our relationship can be volatile at times, but we are going to be parents now. We can't raise a child when we act like children ourselves."

He held both of her hands in his now, resisting the urge to hold her bump and spend the rest of Christmas Day that way.

"God," she sniffled, suddenly pulling her hands away. She pressed them to her cheeks, blotting away tears. "You hate me now. I'm already a bitch without the hormones."

He smiled, but hid it from her as he moved to sit beside her, arms to himself.

"I don't hate you."

"Well, you have every right to."

Pessimism. The old familiar. Part of him knew that she was only offering an apology to wrangle one from him. It was one gift she would not get. While he appreciated how real this seemed to her, she had no right to talk to him the way she did, no right to blow up at him. It was a mother's right to hold concern over their child's welfare. But insulting the father was a step too far, even for her. She was not ill any more; she knew better.

"I'm angry with you," he admitted. "I'm hurt and I feel a little betrayed. But I don't hate you. And I'm sorry that I laughed at you."

She laughed humourlessly, and lifted her legs up onto the bed. The turkey would be ready by now, the others waiting patiently. But neither was in any fit state to join them just yet.

"You really think I'm just...overreacting?" she asked. She understood his answer without a word spoken. Her eyes fell and she shrugged to herself, not entirely convinced.

And then, another tear fell. Just one, but it was enough to catch the light, to catch his attention.

"I'm scared," she sobbed. "What if I _am_ losing my mind? And not in a pathological sense...what if I'm just plain crazy?"

He regretted laughing, but it felt natural to him. To prove that he meant nothing by it, he moved beside her and embraced her this time, though his wounded pride told him to let go.

"You're not crazy," he promised. "It's just the hormones. We will both look back on this one day and laugh. Me, you...and her. I will take care of you, no matter what. But I won't tolerate you speaking to me like you did, any more than you would if our situations were reversed."

There was no reply, and he knew that there would not be. Silence was their friend now, cancelling out the hateful fire of their argument.

He did not yet feel completely at ease, and knew that this day would stay with them for a short while, but he could see a bright future ahead for both of them. Sometimes, that was all he needed to know to pull himself through the dark times.

"Now she has started kicking," Jill muttered. "Can you please make her stop?"

Simple humour, yet so effective. Perhaps the mood was not genuine, but the laugh that they shared was. Because that was who they were; the couple who would crawl from the aftermath of an apocalyptic argument only to laugh at the ridiculousness was for all.

Because nothing lasted forever. Not peace, not hatred; even love could dwindle and die. But family, as imperfect and infuriating as they were...they were here to stay.

**AN - Please review :).**


	14. They Watch From Their Windows

**AN - **Again, apologies for the late update. I've still been struggling a little with block and, well who isn't busy over the holiday season? This is the penultimate chapter of part two of the story (which ended up being pretty much a filler part ^_^; ), and the action kicks off and emotions are cranked up again next chapter. Part three is where Billy's role becomes larger, so bear with me on that one -_^ . This chapter does feel a little rushed, and I apologise for that. Hopefuly the wait for the next won't be too long. Chapter title is from Time To Waste by Alkaline Trio - which I think fits quite well with the whole of part two.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed since the last update: _Badger, Ultimolu, Kenshin13, x-Artichoke-x, 86, Afro Spirit, .-SnipingWolf, Black Metalmark, Ryoko Metallium, USWeasilGirl, xSummonerYunax, tek, Kimmy, leinad312, Ninja-Gnome, Keybladem_ and _Green Macadamia._ Your support truly means a lot; thank you so much!  
Another reason for the late update is that I finished the last of my planned oneshots ^_^. It's pretty much a direct sequel to Mea Maxima Culpa for those of you who read it, and it's called Silhouette. It's also another prequel for what will hopefully be my next story and another C/J (with elements of W/J .), so please check it out if you have the time ^_^. Happy new year! I hope 2011 is wonderful to you all.

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Thirteen - _**_They Watch From Their Windows_

_'These creatures are waking up in these dark trees.  
They're waiting like vultures,  
And eyes roll back, turn white in time to feed.  
They salivate in hunger...'_

**_January 22, 2010. 12:00pm. Arlington, VA._**

"You got enough there?"

Jill raised an eyebrow, considered throwing a fry his way. But a fry thrown was a fry wasted, and she was far too hungry to be wasteful.

"You really are a hypocrite if you're teasing me about my size again," she shot back through a sneer. "I have a little person inside of me; what's your excuse?"

Chris glanced with a smirk to the biceps she was sure had grown larger since her return. With the amount of time he spent in the gym these days, she wouldn't be surprised.

"I don't know why you're so touchy about it," he laughed softly. She knew that he did not mean any offence. "Big is good; big means healthy. And for the record, I've never found you sexier."

"And that's not creepy at all..."

His leg touched hers beneath the table and she laughed, lost in eyes that were momentarily unshielded. Love was always shown or spoken, but she knew that she had barely touched upon the depths of that which he held for her. But in moments like this, she felt it. She understood that the intensity of her own feelings did not go unmatched.

"You are amazing, do you know that?" she smiled. Her hand found his on the table, pressed gently against tanned skin. "How the hell did I get so lucky?"

He seemed startled by her words, but chuckled softly anyway, entwining his fingers with hers.

Neither was heavily into PDA, but at that moment, in that crowded burger bar, she felt so isolated, so lost in a world that encompassed just the two of them. She would have reached over to plant a kiss on his lips had a fellow diner not knocked her elbow as they passed.

Momentarily distracted, she turned back to find that the pile of fries on her tray was significantly smaller than before. Chris tried to disguise his movement, but failed when it came to hiding the evidence. With one fry protruding from his lips, he froze, and she gasped incredulously, deeply offended.

"What the hell?" she growled. Food had become an extremely touchy subject. But insult failed her, and she instead reached forward, collecting most of his fries in her hand and depositing them on the top of her own pile.

"Because that's fair!" he complained.

He made another swipe for her food but she batted his hand away, shielded her lunch protectively.

"I'd say it is," she grinned.

"Oh come on, I only stole four of yours!"

"And you stole my shapely figure," she retorted. He laughed, leaning back in his plastic chair.

"Yes, I got you pregnant out of pure spite," he agreed sarcastically.

She was about to snap back amicably, until realisation snowed down upon her.

Things had been tense lately; friendly but little more. She could not remember the last time they had carried on like this, had teased each other as they used to before love and Umbrella changed their lives. Truthfully, she did not want the moment to end. Free from paranoia, from the hurtful knowledge that he would rather believe she was crazy than believe her.

But she knew where his denial stemmed from. There was no evidence to support her claims, and her medical history did not exactly work in her favour. She did not honestly know if what she saw, what she _felt_, was true. Doubting herself was perhaps the lowest she had sunken since her treatment. But if she truly was crazy, she was not going to go without a fight, not this time.

She was snapped from her reverie by the touch of a damp finger to her nose. She blinked, confused until Chris's fingertip disappeared between his lips, ketchup that had stained it removed.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed a she wiped the red condiment from her face. But further complaint fell from intent as she caught sight of an older couple at the next table, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads in shame.

It was anger that surfaced next, but she held it back. As childish as their behaviour may be, what right did they have to judge?

'I'd wager our relationship is far more satisfying than theirs,' she told herself. Because without fun, love was simply a painful emotion.

"How do you feel about a trip to Manhattan on February twenty-first?" he asked. "We could make a vacation out of it."

The thought of going away with him was wonderful, but physically she felt far from able. She was thirty weeks pregnant, would be even closer to her due date when February came around. Some days, just walking to the park on their estate was a chore.

"Amy set a date," he explained. Of course; his only unmarried cousin, beating them to the post. "February twenty-second; the whole family is going to be there."

Guilt prevented her from immediate denial, but the necessity lingered. Her heart beat towards acceptance, wanting him to be with the family he had neglected since her return.

"Chris...the baby is due in March," she sighed. "Even just to Manhattan is...it's too far. I can't sit still for that long and it would take forever with all the bathroom breaks."

The smile he flashed was genuine, but his words stung.

"It's okay. We don't have to go."

"_You_ do!" She did not miss a beat. "Baby, go without me." She sensed the refusal before he could voice it. "I'm not taking no for an answer! I'll be fine on my own; Rebecca lives ten minutes away, so it's not like I'll be completely alone."

He sighed heavily, and stole another fry from her plate. But she did not care, simply let out a little huff of her own.

"Okay," he agreed. "But I'm coming back the day after the ceremony. And I want you to call me if anything happens, as soon as it happens."

She assured him that he would, but knew that it was unnecessary. The baby was fine, as was she. Previous lack of activity was no longer an issue, was missed in actuality. She did not know what the girl was doing in there, but there was rarely a moment of peace.

'And you will feel better when she is here,' she assumed. 'The hormones will die down, the paranoia will vanish and you will be able to hold her in your arms. Just two more months. You and Chris will have the family you dream of.'

But even now, she felt that it was hope rather than knowledge.

* * *

**_January 22, 2010. 12:09pm. Location unknown._**

_He had taken refuge at the bar that night, clutching his cell. It was not fear that gripped him, but the sense that this was a mess he did not wish to be caught up in. How was he to know that she was engaged? She had not worn a ring, had not mentioned a fiancé. Of course, they never did._

_Billy rubbed his bruised jaw, the knowledge that it was not a fight lost all that comforted him on the long walk home._

_But comfort was soon lost, spiralling away with the plume of smoke that rose behind the deli. His legs carried him faster than he willed them to._

_And they gave way as he came to the corner of the block._

_A thick cloud of black ash blew around his apartment building, choking those who stood to watch, sweater necks clasped against their mouths. Fire-fighters trained numerous hoses on the upper floors, fighting back flames that spat out of broken windows._

_Amidst the chaos, paramedics pulled still bodies into ambulances, police wrestled with a furious figure._

_And Billy's chest twisted, the Scotch he had frittered away his wages on spilling against the pavement. He clutched his stomach as he retched again, a bulging black bag wheeled past the police car._

_The cops pushed her fiancé into the back of their vehicle, and she screamed mere feet away. Whether at them or at him, he did not know. He did not think, only ran._

The silence woke him, unusual in its emptiness. There was no drilling, no hammering. Where was everyone today?

Memories of ash remained in his mind, of charred corpses wheeled away to their resting places.

And it was all his fault.

He drank what remained of his water, choking on the liquid. Nothing tasted the same anymore. And he could barely lift himself from the hard mattress, every inch of his body agonisingly stiff.

But he succeeded in dropping to the floor, shimmying over to the grate on the right-hand wall. The lights were off in the neighbouring cell, but he could see the silhouettes the renovation had left behind. It could have been a high-end hotel room, complete with bureau and carpet. Why would they alter a cell? They never cared about their prisoners, had residence quarters for guests.

'Maybe it's for you?' he considered, but knew that he would perhaps be the last intended resident for this room.

'How long is this going to continue?'

Years could have passed, and he would not know the difference. The only comfort was the knowledge that they had not yet pulled any innocent souls into his hell. But he knew better than to assume it was because of the belief that he had not passed on the data to another. If they truly believed so, he would not be here...or at the very least, he would no longer be human.

'You should have sent it straight to the BSAA,' he realised. 'You should not have...'

He could not rest, knowing that it was out there, knowing where it was. Had it been handed on yet? Was it with the recipient or still in limbo?

One way or another, this was the last thing he had wanted.

_He could not remember the last time he had visited Virginia. Yet here he was, walking the streets of Arlington. Well, traversing a hospital car park._

_The wind was icy, but he pulled his scarf up around his neck, hiding his face out of habit. And then he checked the name of the wing, saw that he was on the right track. The reception area was warmer, so he moved silently, stealthily inside._

_'You're early,' he told himself. But he was like a child on Christmas morning; far too excitable to wait._

_'Will she remember me?'_

_Immediately, he scolded himself. So many years had passed. But if he played on her mind half as much as she played on his, she would not have forgotten._

_He would have been here years ago, chasing the only soul who had shown him kindness in his darkest years, had it not been for the charges from which he ran. But now he was free, was an everyday citizen once again._

_And there was so much he needed to thank her for, so much he needed to say._

_He recognised her the moment she stepped through those doors. She was older, hair a little longer...but he would know her anywhere. The smile that twisted his lips confirmed suspicion. He barely possessed the restraint to remain seated, to not run up to her and reveal his freedom, reveal his survival._

_He rose, but so too did a man to his left. She looked over, smiled as pale cheeks flushed a dark shade of pink. And then the man moved, placed a chaste kiss on her lips when they met._

_"You made it," she sighed. But that was all he heard, and her smile was all that he saw._

_She was successful, and he could see now that she was happy. It was more than he expected, more than he could have wished for. But she was young; young enough to put her past behind her and forge some semblance of a normal life._

_'I can't do this,' he realised. Because his heart drew him back into his seat, kept him still as they left._

_Their past was chaotic, the one night they had spent together nothing short of terrifying. He did not want to remind her of such a dark time, not now._

_And so he stayed. And he said nothing._

His decision had been pretty final at the time. So why had he involved her now, why had he dragged her back into this world?

'Because she is the only person in this world you can trust.'

But what would this trust cost her?

What price would he force her to pay?

* * *

**_January 22, 2010. 12:15pm. 504 Tower View Apartments. Washington, D.C._**

The phone continued to ring but Leon ignored it, threw the covers over his head. It would be work again, calling to know where he was.

Memories of the previous night were hazy, but bruised ribs told a twisted tale of their own.

_"You really think you can drink me under the table?"_

_"Are you saying I can't?"_

_Laughter._

_"Kid, you have no idea what you are getting yourself into."_

_"Then humour me. Fifty bucks says you can't."_

_"Leon, I have a pregnant wi- fiancée back home, who will kill me - actually _kill _me - if I stumble home drunk."_

_"Well, if your liver is as resilient as you say it is, you won't have to worry about that, will you?"_

_"Two hundred...game on."_

He remembered Chris's jibes, remembered his smirk as he considered aloud how much his daughter would love the toys his two hundred dollars were going to buy her. He could not remember much after that. A lot of stumbling occurred, much singing, and a collision with a staircase that he was beginning to think had snapped a rib or two.

Rolling over groggily, he caught sight of a note on the nightstand, of a large glass of water, plate of plain white bread and a smaller glass of water next to a sachet of Alka-Seltzer.

_'For the head,'_ read the note in Chris's printed letters.

With a groan, he opted instead to reach for his cell, checking the time. He was never such a late riser, felt thoroughly ashamed of himself for sleeping through the beginning of a working day. But he was in no fit state to be in uniform.

_New Messages (3)._

Every movement was painful, and the glare of the screen hurt his eyes. But he was hopeful as he opened his inbox.

_'Hope you're feeling better this morning,'_ read the first message, sent by Chris. _'Just take it easy. I don't blame her for walking away, but she does love you. I've yet to meet a Redfield who has given up on love.'_

'You spoke to - ouch - him about Claire?'

At least his drunken tongue had been favourable, he deduced. Had even one word been spoken out of line in front of Chris, he would have woken with a lot more than bruised ribs and a paralysing migraine. Truth be told, he would have been lucky to wake at all.

_'Where are you today?'_ The second message was from Hunnigan_. 'I told them you called in sick, so just take the day off and let me know that you're okay. xxx_'

And all hope that Claire had contacted him faded with the last.

_'Thank you for going out with Chris last night,_' Jill texted appreciatively. _'He really seems to have enjoyed himself :). Are you free this weekend? Want to meet up? It's been too long. J xxx. P.S. I love you too sweetie, but you're just too good for me :P.'_

He groaned again as hazy memories washed over him, warped images that made little sense...but just enough to offer some semblance of understanding.

_"Give me the phone," Chris demanded. "Give it, Leon. I'm not-"_

_"I need to call her!" he slurred. "I need...let go of me!"_

_Why did he protest? She was his sister, and there was an apology on the tip of his tongue. Why did he deny his own flesh and blood what he truly wanted?_

_Leon__ told him so, but he was sure the words had not been spoken as intended. In fact, he was not sure that what left his lips was much more than an incoherent sound._

_"Hey!" Chris growled, finally ceasing his attempts to steal away the cell._

_"But I love her! She needs to know!"_

_"So you're going to call her drunk at quarter to one in the morning to let her know? That's worse that keeping quiet, you moron."_

_He failed to see the logic. But he made no attempt to dial, drunken heart sinking._

_"How long did you keep it from Jill?" he sighed. "She didn't care! She loves you. Maybe...maybe Claire doesn't love me that much. Maybe she doesn't love me at all...she just thinks she does."_

_His cheeks were wet now. How were they wet? His sight was impaired, the only image in his mind that of the redhead who refused to do anything with him these days._

_"Oh God, I'm going to die alone," he cried, slumping against the side of the road._

_Chris laughed as he tried to pull him to his feet, realising eventually that it was simply not worth the effort._

_"Buddy," he sighed, choosing to join him instead. "You are so young. There are plenty of-"_

_"How did you do it?" he demanded. "How did you find an amazing woman and...make it work? How did- How didja-"_

_"Well, for starters, I wasn't a coward. I never hid the fact that I love her."_

_Leon__ did not bother to explain himself. If Claire did not understand, then neither would her brother._

_"I would do anything for Jill," Chris told him. "Perhaps to my detriment. If you can't spare a few words for Claire... Maybe she was right; you need to sort yourself out before anything can happen between the two of you."_

_But he did not know what it was that he was supposed to 'sort out'. Was it alcohol-induced amnesia, or just plain ignorance?_

_"I have to..." he muttered, and his fingers moved across the keypad of his cell._

_"Your funeral," Chris sighed. "Because I will kill you if you hurt her again."_

_But he was immune to threats, found her name and dialled._

_"I love you!" he gushed, before she could even say hello. "And I'm sorry, for everything. I need you."_

_There was silence on the other end, the shuffle of bed sheets._

_"Leon?"_

_The voice was not Claire's. The cell slipped from his hands, caught only by an over-attentive Chris._

_"What happened?" he demanded, anger flaring. Leon did not know what would be more harmful; the truth or fabrication._

_"Please don't kill me."_

_Chris raised the Blackberry to his ear, spoke into the receiver. Caught somewhere between amusement and fear, he shook his head shamefully._

_"Jill?" he breathed. "I am so sorry. You're lying; I know he did. Yeah, he's in a whole other world right now. We're on our way- Of course I'm gonna make sure he gets home. No, he's not staying at- Because you're pregnant and he'll keep us both up all night! About half an hour. No, don't wait up! Dammit- Alright, alright; I won't argue. I love you too."_

_With a firm hand, he smacked Leon upside the head._

With Claire's name in mind, but Jill's on the tip of his tongue, it had been the latter that he had called, and he knew now that perhaps it was for the best.

How long had it been since their relationship ended? Some days it felt as though it had never truly began, that it was simply some wonderful dream that he had lost himself to.

Others...he wished that the pregnancy had been little more than a scare.

The idea of children, of becoming a father, terrified him, but deep in his heart he knew that it was a future he wanted with her.

'Sort your shit out, Kennedy,' he urged himself.

It was the job he loved that proved the biggest obstacle. It took him all over the world, but that aspect no longer appealed to him. For wherever it took him, she was not there. But he knew that he could never leave. Too much good came from what he did.

'And you're scared to tell her that you love her because one of these days you may not come back?' he pondered.

The migraine flared, the warmth of his sheets becoming uncomfortable.

'Coward.'

* * *

**_January 22, 2010. 1:05pm. Arlington, VA._**

They were watching her. All eyes, behind the shades. She could _feel_ the stares, boring through to the bone.

Why were they here? Of all places, why here? How had they known where she would be? Were they following her?

'It's more logical that you are imagining it,' she assured herself. 'Heavily pregnant women tend to draw wandering eyes, as do biceps the size of Chris's.'

"Jill?" Chris asked, stopping them both so suddenly she was forced to grip him for support. "Are you okay?"

'Am I?'

She looked to the suits, watched them as they watched her. They would turn if she pointed them out, normal to his eyes. And then they would argue, he would sleep in the guest room again...

'They aren't real!' she reminded herself. 'And they won't go away until you learn to ignore them.'

"I'm fine," she said with a smile, as wide and genuine as she had ever flashed. And then she waited, turned her head but a fraction of an inch.

They were gone.

'Told you so.'

"Are you sure?" The tone of worry to his voice was so genuine that it made her heart bleed.

"I'm with you," she laughed. The only remedy she knew to his pain; a swift stroke of the ego. "How could anything possibly be wrong?"

The smug smirk told her that it had worked, and her own worry assuaged.

"Okay, I'll let this one slide," he chuckled. And he did, but the protective arm remained around her as they made their way to the mother and baby store, Jill fumbling in her pocket for the hastily-scrawled list.

"We're good for toys," she read, counting on his arm to guide her. "But we do need some mom stuff, a stroller, a car seat and...well, I think the shower will take care of the rest."

"That's all we need?"

Jill rolled her eyes, wishing that they were both so prepared.

"No, it's all I could remember this morning. I'll be remembering things we have forgotten right up until the last moment. Oh- Baby-proofing! See!"

He ushered her inside the shop, laughing still when he plucked the list from her hands.

"I don't think we need to worry about her crawling into anything for a while," he told her, elated by the simple realisation that their house needed to be baby-proofed.

She scanned the store first, settling where the strollers stood. She had researched as best she could, but was still clueless as to what exactly they were looking for. A stroller was a stroller, regardless of design.

But one in particular caught her eye. It was black, simple...beautiful. And as she drew closer, she saw that it was suitable from birth, that their daughter would not quickly outgrow it. The structure was sturdy, the handle soft enough to not hurt the hands. And there was enough space within to cover the girl to comfort and still leave room for any toy she may become attached to.

"This one!" she told Chris, grinning deliriously. "This is it! Can't you just see her in there?"

Enthusiasm drained as quickly as it had appeared when she caught sight of the price.

"Well, that figures," she sighed, annoyed to find that tears welled in her eyes. "We can't afford that!"

As usual, a dream - as momentary as it had been - scuppered. But still, she touched the lining, scrutinising it to find even the smallest design flaw. She found nothing.

"Hey there," greeted the assistant. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

She twisted her face, knowing the answer she had to give.

"We'll take this one."

She froze, speechless. Chris waved a hand towards the stroller, smiled reassuringly.

"W-We can't afford this!" she hissed quietly. "It's a nice gesture and all, but-"

"Consider it Leon's offering for the shower," he winked.

"Please don't tell me you stole from him last night," she gasped, colour draining from her features. "Chris, that's low."

She honestly did not expect this to be the case. Since she had refused to allow him to pay for anything following his admission of footing the bill for her treatment, he had begun to find new and inventive ways of spending. It was entirely likely that 'Leon's' money was in fact his own.

"I won it fair and square!" he protested. "Don't look at me like that; I never would have taken it if I didn't intend to spend it on her anyway."

She wanted to argue, but the mother within sided with the selfish desire to buy.

"Okay, okay," she relented. "We'll take it."

The assistant waited for a further nod of confirmation before she left, and when she did, Jill turned to her fiancé, wrapping her arms around his waist as they waited.

"It looks so comfortable," she noted. "You think she'll like it?"

Chris hummed in reply. They both knew that she would barely pay an iota of attention to anything she owned, but the sentiment was sound.

A hand fell unconsciously to where their daughter slept and she smiled as she held her, comforted by her own warmth.

'She will be okay,' she found that she needed to remind herself.

"Chris!"

The voice stole her from the threat of poisonous thought, and the moment was broken, both halves of the couple pulling back, adjusting themselves in mild embarrassment.

"Did you take your number out of the phone book?" asked the girl as she navigated display stands to join them.

"We value our privacy," he told her, stunned. "Hello, Gabriella."

And Jill hummed in acknowledgement. She may have been older, taller and lacking the fractured English that had once coloured her speech, but there was little doubt that it was the same little girl she had once tucked in at night.

"It's nice to see you again, Jill," she smiled, as genuine as her lips had ever bore. "You look well."

She thanked her, with a smile of her own, and looked curiously to Chris. As a child, Gabriella had always been somewhat attached to him. He had never treated her with anything less than respect, had never underestimated her intelligence. The memories alone were enough for her to feel the ache of impending parenthood.

"I've been trying to find you for _ages_!" Gabriella revealed. English. Jill realised that the new tone to her accent was English, though from which area o the country, she could not tell. "I've been reading the papers, and I...saw some things that worried me. So I've been doing a little digging and-"

"Gabriella!"

"Oh shit."

Three sets of eyes turned to the store entrance, to the man who stormed through the door, perhaps a heartbeat away from fury. Jill recognised him immediately, as did Chris, but his eyes were not so keen. He gripped Gabriella's arm, turned her roughly to face him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he seethed. "You don't just run off like that! You were supposed to be looking after your brother!"

"Like the little shit didn't run off and leave _me_!" she defended.

He inhaled deeply, shook his head in shame. And then he turned to them, eyes apologetic.

"I'm sorry about this," he muttered. His accent had changed also, diluted from a heavy Scouse twang to something else entirely. "She-"

Jill smiled as silence struck him, nodded in anticipation of realisation.

"Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine," she confirmed, before the question was asked. "Nice to see you again, Matthew."

_"How are ye?" the man nodded, offering a hand to be shaken. She took it warily, became more enthusiastic when she noted the expression of pure ease that had fallen upon Chris's features. He would not have allowed any man to touch her had he not been sure of their benign intent._

_He now acted with her as he did with Claire; treating her as part of the family. But the smiles that he offered were anything but benign, transmitting all that she knew they must deny. With Raccoon little more than a crater of rubble and ash, Umbrella's repertoire of destruction was only growing larger. It was with Umbrella that their focus must lie, not with one another._

_"Matthew Stockard, this is Jill Valentine," Chris spoke. "Jill Valentine, Matthew Stockard."_

_Matthew had a kind face, despite the scar that sliced through his hairline. If there was but one thing she knew about herself, it was that she was a good judge of character._

_"Nice to meet ye," Matthew acknowledged. "Maybe now you're here, Chris will give it a rest with the stories."_

_She did not miss the warning glare that her friend shot his way. But inside, she was proud...and glad. Through the lonely months, she had been terrified that part of him would forget who they were, would forget what had happened between them and what had been promised. Evidently, this was not the case._

_"Is Martin around?" Chris asked._

_"Nah," he sneered, and then turned to Jill. "I'd stay away from him if I was you. Complete bell end. Not a girl 'round here he hasn't groped...or at least tried to."_

_She smiled, laughing through her fatigue._

_"Well, you seem to be well versed in the dos and don'ts around here. Care to give me a tour?"_

"Well I'll be damned," Matthew laughed. And then his eyes fell to her bump and another wave followed. "Double damned. Nice to see the two of you worked things out."

"And you and Alejandra, I see," Chris retorted.

Alejandra was the one who had brought the group together, recognising Chris from stolen Umbrella surveillance data when he had rescued Gabriella - her young daughter - on the streets of Paris. Jill had admired her very much, for she reminded her of her late mother. Strong, proud, willing to do anything for family. She had a heart of gold and nerves of steel, bearing the scars inflicted upon her by Umbrella's hand with pride; they were scars that had saved her daughter's life, and she was far from ashamed of that. At the end of the war, when they had parted ways, Matthew returned to England to assist in the foundation of the European branch of the BSAA. A wartime fling between the two turned into marriage, and now she assumed that the two had brought a son into the world.

"She's not causing you any trouble is she?" Matthew asked. Gabriella squirmed beside him, huffing in annoyance.

"I resent that."

"Gabby, I'd be worried about you if you weren't causing trouble."

Jill laughed, raising her eyebrows in Chris's direction. And she knew that he saw Claire in the girl, too. She was too free-spirited to be restrained. It was best to let her roam free and hope that she would wear herself out or tire of whatever idea had crept into her head before someone got hurt.

"I hacked into TriCell's account system," she explained, ignoring the groan of her step-father. "I've been following the story in the papers and...I know that something is wrong. I don't think that Kijuju was an isolated incident. I don't think that Gionne alone was to blame, or that it was all corruption at the hands of Albert Wesker."

Jill felt Chris's hand touch her own. The name used to frighten her, but now...now she did not even flinch.

"My roommate is good with computers - _really_ good - and she helped me hack into their corporate account through the personal account of a TriCell employee," Gabriella continued. Jill deduced that she did not wish to know exactly how she had come across the employee's personal details. "Millions of dollars are being siphoned into a department referred to as 'Surplus Engineering'. I have checked the tax records, the output data...everything. All of this money is being poured into a department that is producing nothing, that doesn't exist in terms of legality. Doesn't that sound familiar to you?"

And it did. Frighteningly so. Umbrella had utilised a similar tactic to conceal the illegal research that had continued for decades. Even Excella had manipulated the system as such; lying about the intent of the funding that was sent her way.

But if TriCell were operating as Umbrella once had, why had Excella shielded her research from the rest of the company? They never questioned her activities, but they never knew the truth. When executives would visit, they would be shown the less incriminating areas of the facility, and Excella would dress her in uniform, enough padding to disguise the device hidden beneath her clothing. Why go to such lengths if the company was equally as corrupt?

'Excella was greedy,' she reminded herself. 'She would not share her money or her research with anyone. And she sure as hell would not have shared Wesker with the world. If word got out that he was still alive...'

"She's been a fan of conspiracy theories these past few years," Matthew sighed, snapping her from consideration. And then he turned again to his step-daughter. "Don't you think you should show a little more consideration?"

Jill sighed, irritated by the reminder that her 'resurrection' had reached the British media. The whole world knew of what had happened to her, when she herself could barely stomach the memories.

"It's okay," she felt the need to say. "But, Gabriella, if you truly stumbled across something this big, shouldn't you be telling all this to someone with a little power. The BSAA, perhaps?"

Gabriella sighed and pushed Matthew's hands off her shoulders.

"You think I didn't try that?" she admitted with a downcast expression. "They laughed at me. Who would believe the word of an eighteen-year-old girl? They knew of my past, thought I was making it all up. I asked to speak to both of you, and they told me that you were still on leave, so…here I am."

Jill did not know what to believe, but she could see that the girl's intent was pure. She believed in what she had supposedly found, so much so that she had gone to the effort of tracking them down.

"So I suppose this is why you agreed to visit Aunt Harriet?" Matthew realised. "Did you make a record of what you found?"

Gabriella nodded, despite the fact that he was obviously merely humouring her.

"Screenshots, but...not much else," she explained. "We had to get out of there quick before they got a lock on us; their security is...hardcore. As for the other data, it's public information, albeit heavily edited public information."

"If you give us what you have, we'll see what we can do," Chris told her. Jill could see that he had already placed trust in the information. After all, not only was Gabriella intelligent, but she was also persistent and honest to a fault. She would not let this go if she truly believed in the idea; so much like her mother...so much like Jill. "We have a friend who works for the government. He can poke a little deeper; if there is anything to uncover, he'll find it."

Somehow, she doubted it. Leon was in no fit state to do anything these days. Constantly distracted, she was amazed that he had survived so long without a formal warning.

'All because of Claire,' she realised with a frown. She truly did not know which side to take. While she firmly believed that Leon was an ass for the way he was handling the love issue, Claire knew what she was getting herself into when she allowed herself to fall into the role of his girlfriend; it was not one that came without its fair share of issues.

A man could not be changed unless he was willing, and Leon was just as stubborn as she. Even Chris had inadvertently hurt her in the early days of their relationship, but he learned from his mistakes, as did she, and seven years later they remained together, with marriage and a baby on the horizon. All that held the other couple from achieving happiness was stubbornness she had hoped that they would outgrow.

"I hope I'm wrong about all this," Gabriella admitted. And her eyes were on Jill as she spoke these words.

Because the work of Albert Wesker was of interest to any corrupt medical body.

And for two and a half years, she had been the embodiment of that work.

* * *

**_January 22, 2010. 9:00pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

"Another late night?"

Rebecca jumped at the sound of Connolly's voice, tired eyes barely focusing on his features.

"I guess you could say that," she laughed.

The V-17 vaccine was in its final stages of preparation, perhaps only a month or two away from launch. After almost a year of false endings and failed trials, sleep barely seemed to be a priority anymore. This vaccine was her life's work, a goal she had reached towards since she was eighteen years old. The potential was beyond anything she had previously achieved.

Effectiveness against the T-virus had been proven, as it had been with Uroboros, the Progenitor virus the G-virus and every derivative of the aforementioned viruses that had emerged in the last decade. All that remained was the T-Veronica strain. Results were promising, and tomorrow she would know for sure.

Bioterrorism as they knew it now would cease to exist. With the eradication of the viruses, they would be sent back to the 1990s, to an era where zombies and monsters existed only in movies and nightmares. Thousands upon thousands of lives would be saved.

_"That's enough for me. If this happens, if...if this can save someone, just one person...then it was worth it."_

Jill's words remained with her, the tears that had presented as she broke the news still flowing in her mind. Because the vaccine had been borne from her blood.

It was the moment she realised that her friend had truly healed, had won the final battle. No matter which way they looked at it, they could see that something wonderful had come from her years of captivity. In forcing vengeance down upon her, Wesker had seen the end of Umbrella's legacy with his own hands...as he had seen the end of his own.

"You promise you'll still be my friend when you win the Nobel Prize?"

She laughed and waved a hand bashfully.

"You don't have to wait around for me all the time you know?" she pointed out, hoping to change the subject. She could talk for hours about her work, but knew that she had begun to bore people with the same old story.

"I do when I drive you here," he laughed. "Otherwise, how are you supposed to get home?"

"A cab, perhaps?"

A lift did sound appealing, but she so desperately wanted to finish her report early so that she did not need to rise so early the next morning. But Connolly did not often take 'no' for an answer.

"Just go," she urged him nonetheless. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He frowned, hummed, and then sighed, knowing that arguing with her was futile now that her project was drawing to a close.

"Call me when you get home," he told her. It was more of a demand than a request. "If I hear nothing by eleven, I'll send the cops 'round."

And she knew that he would. So with a final assurance that she would indeed call, he finally left, and she was able to gather her files in her arms and finally retreat to her office.

'Why don't you just go home?' a soothing voice urged. 'You'll only make a mess of it and end up rewriting it all tomorrow.'

Alas, progress was never made by procrastinating. She knew that she would feel more alert once she was seated in front of her computer with a coffee in hand.

But when she came to her office, the seat in question was already occupied.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, shifting her grip to maintain the grip on her files.

The question was redundant; she recognised the man almost immediately. While no words had ever been exchanged between the two, she knew that his name was Lloyd, that he was an orderly within the hospital.

What business did orderly have in her office? What business did anyone but she have in her office?

"O-Oh," he stuttered, catching himself. "Sorry, ma'am. I just needed to send a quick email and...the door was open."

She remained in the doorway, scrutinising him with wary eyes.

"You have no right to enter my office," she reminded him. Work was personal to her, and this was a violation of everything she held dear.

He apologised again as he stumbled to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Chambers. It won't happen again."

He was gone before she could press the matter, but discomfort remained. And she moved swiftly to her computer, checked her inbox, history, and everywhere else she knew footprints would have been left.

Nothing.

She found that her hands trembled as they moved to the files, and suddenly it was her cell that she grasped for. Fear twisted her stomach, provided a boost that caffeine would not have matched.

"Have you left?" she asked, relieved when Connolly assured her that he had not. "I...I've changed my mind. Can...Can you drive me home?"

Begging him to hurry, she reluctantly ended the call. And she reached for the antique stationary knife on her desk, grasped it in a clammy hand.

And then she waited, instincts screaming, begging her to remain aware.

They had never failed her before.

**AN - Please review :)**


	15. The Monster at the End of This Book

**AN - **I'm surprised that this one actually got finished a little ahead of schedule ^_^. This is the final chapter in Part Two - Part Three (the final part) starts with next chapter. I mixed things up a little with this chapter, more so where Leon and Claire are concerned than anything else. Part of their scene has moved to next chapter. And...well I think I got a little carried away with Chris and Jill's first scene. Chapter title is from a book this time (also an episode of Supernatural ^_^). If you recognise it, you are actually awesome.

But you are all awesome regardess :). Especially _Skiptrix, Ultimolu, x-Artichoke-x, tek, Black Metalmark, Kenshin13, USWeasilgirl, C. Redfield 86, xSummonerYunax, Ninja-Gnome_ and _EbonyXivory_. Thank you so much for reviewing! I hope you enjoy the latest.

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Fourteen_**_ - The Monster at the End of This Book_

_'Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong.  
No matter how fast light travels,  
it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.'  
_~Terry Pratchett~

**_February 21, 2010. 8:30pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

The tub was barely large enough to accommodate them both. But there she lay, her head against his chest, nine-month bump breaking through the surface of the water.

Languished, Jill hummed to herself, the warmth that surrounded her working as a mild sedative. She could not remember the last time she had felt so relaxed.

Then there were the arms. The left, which rested beneath her chest, holding her to him. And the right, which brought his hand to her arm, the back of his fingers brushing against damp skin.

"How long has it been since we did this?" Chris asked, lips close to her ear. He was, she noticed, in a rather sensual mood today.

"Far too long," she lamented.

Though she had protested the cancellation of plans to attend his cousin's wedding, she was glad that he was here tonight. With only four weeks left of the pregnancy, she had begun to feel the weight that had slowly been piling on over the months. Aches became more prominent and she simply did not feel like doing much but lazing about the house, wishing that their daughter was out of her womb and in her arms.

But then came the reminder that moments like these would not so easily be found when she did arrive. Though she so longed to meet the girl, she would miss the moments she shared with Chris. Moments they would not be enjoying right now had his concern outweighed his desire to spend time with his family.

"Well," he sighed. "We made it..._she_ made it."

She knew that there were many complications in childbirth, that anything could happen and that she should not relax until it was all over and done with...but she also knew that she was right. If her body decided that it no longer wished to be pregnant, the baby had a high chance of surviving premature delivery.

"I think we deserve some credit too," she laughed. "It will be our seventh anniversary next month. Even with the two and half years we spent apart, that's still an achievement."

"In my mind, it's so much longer than that," he chuckled. "But not nearly long enough."

They both mourned for the missing years, where even the flirtation that had coloured their time within S.T.A.R.S. had been taboo. They were years that should have been spent together.

It was surreal, waking up every morning and having nothing more to fear than the possibility of there being a spider in the bathtub when she went to brush her teeth. No zombies, no power-hungry corporations bearing down upon them. Now, there was only peace and time; time they had sworn to use to make up for that which was lost.

"Hopefully we have another fifty anniversaries ahead of us," she hummed.

She felt his soft laughter in her ear, awoke to the nose that nuzzled into her hair. Her senses were on the verge of overload; she did not know how much more she could physically take.

"Will you still love me when I'm old?" he teased. "When I have a beer belly and start boring you all with war stories?"

The image his words painted in her mind sent her into a fit of hysterics and water sloshed up around her, almost spilling over the lip of the tub. Fitness was important to Chris; he denied that lifting weights was an obsession, but it often could be. Add a little vanity to the mix and she doubted that she would ever see him with a beer gut.

She reached her right arm up, placed her hand against his head and a kiss to his cheek.

"Baby, I'll still love you no matter what," she smiled. "You're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me." And then she dropped her hand to her bump, smile widening. "Well, you're going to have to share top spot soon."

His hand joined hers, their fingers entwining.

"We'll be one of those cute old couples," she laughed. "No war stories; stories about family. And they'll all say how they hope they'll be as happy as we are when they're our age."

"Really?" He was incredulous. "Barry seems to think we'll be one of those bickering old couples."

And she laughed, because she could see it too.

"We only bicker in front of them," she pointed out. But then sadness fell. "Do you think that's how they see us?"

"I don't care how they see us," he told her. "Because after all this time, we can still do this; simply being together is enough. No seven year itch, no need to spice things up. How many other couples can say that?"

And he was right. Because despite all the arguments and the days they felt ready to tear one another apart, they had something pretty damn special.

"So," he laughed. "We'll get a couple rocking chairs for the front porch. We'll be one of those old couples everyone _thinks_ are cute, but we'll be watching everything...judging..._plotting_. And nobody will know the truth."

She laughed again. Because the truth was that no matter who or what she became in the future, it would mean nothing if he was not there at her side.

And so she rested again, letting tension seep out of overworked muscles and into the slowly cooling water. Chris's warmth was all that she needed; she could barely feel the water against her thighs. And as naked as they were, as exposed as she felt, she found it wonderful that the act was far from sexual.

Her eyelids drooped, and suddenly his muscles tensed.

"Jill," he called. "You're not falling asleep on me."

"No," she agreed, though it came out as little more than a hum. "I'm not."

"Come on," he laughed. "It's about time we got out."

But such an endeavour was easier said than done. She weighed an awful lot these days, and movement was somewhat restricted.

"Lean forward," he chuckled. She did, and she felt the air rush into the space he had once occupied, felt his arm brush against hers as he heaved himself out of the tub.

A dry towel brushed against her shoulders moments later and he used it to grip her and pull her to her feet, knowing that she never would have succeeded on her own.

"Thank you," she blushed.

He was dry and dressed before her, waiting by their bed. It was dark out, but still early in her mind. Sleep came in waves, interrupted by her pregnancy, and she knew that Chris would not sleep so early.

So she waited for an offer that she knew would come. An admission of his desire to watch her play the baby grand, or the suggestion of a movie perhaps.

But something caught her eye as she waited by the window, preparing to draw the curtains. Something moved in a bush towards the back of the garden. It rustled, shadows melting around leaves. And breath caught in her throat, choked her.

A bird erupted from the shadows, fragments of leaf falling silently behind it.

'A bird,' she sighed. 'It was just a bird. And you were doing so well...'

"Are you okay?"

She looked over her shoulder, smiled in response to the question that was all too familiar these days. The room seemed so bright all of a sudden, cream walls illuminated, reflecting light back towards her. Thoughts she had kept locked away rushed back, doubts pricking at her defences, weakening her.

Chris believed that her paranoia had faded; they all did. She was tired of their suspicion, tired of doubting herself, and so she hid. But yes, doubt had returned. While Dr. Keller believed that she had made astounding progress, she often wondered what progress meant. Nobody had held the expectation of things ever being the same again. How could they be? But was _she_ the same?

"Have I changed?" she asked. Whatever damage had been dealt, she could not see herself.

He sighed deeply. Somehow, he seemed to have known that this question would be asked sooner or later. But a small smile followed the sigh and he rose as he addressed her, stepping closer with every breath.

"Yes," he admitted, practicing the honesty she had always respected him for. "You...react to things differently than you used to. You think about yourself a little more, and trust me, that's a good thing. But underneath...you are the same Jill Valentine I fell in love with."

"I didn't mean it in a sense of love," she felt the need to explain. "I meant have I changed as a person? Am I completely unrecognisable or-"

Her throat ran dry, words stolen.

"I know you didn't." She could feel his sincerity, did not need the gentle hand that moved to her arm to tell her that. "But that's just it. I didn't fall for one part of you, Jill; I fell for all of you. If I can still see you there, can still _feel_ you there, then...it's the same old you."

A short huff of breath escaped her lips as she took this in, correlating it with her own thoughts. If she was the same person, why did she not feel that way?

"If this is about a perceived lack of strength, then you really have no need to worry." Soft laughter accompanied his speech this time, and another hand rose to her other arm. "You are stronger than before. In the past year you have dealt with more shit than most face in a lifetime. First post-traumatic stress disorder, then- then the miscarriage, depression and schizophreniform disorder. If you don't feel the same, it's not because you are lacking anything, but because you have gained so much."

The old Jill would not have blushed, but she did. She could stand on her own two feet, would instigate arguments and be sure to be the one who finished them. Perhaps this was strength, and she had simply failed to see it. There was so much about herself that she had forgotten under Wesker's tyranny. And it was not Chris who had helped her remember; it was she who had found the fractured shards of her psyche and pieced them back together again.

"Maybe you have a point," she smiled.

"Of course I do," he agreed with a wink.

He had changed also. He was more emotional now, more in touch with the side of him that he always used to shy away from. But she would never tell him. She was too afraid that he would clam up again.

More than anything, she knew that he feared losing her again. He held her tighter these days, in a way that screamed fearful desperation. Though she longed to assure him that there was simply no need, she remained silent because she too held fear within.

"Let me talk to her," he requested, and suddenly she realised that his hands were at her bump once again. The baby moved, kicked gently; she was always more responsive to his voice than she was to her mother's.

"I'd love that," she hummed, smiling painfully. "And I think she would too."

* * *

**_February 21, 2010. 9:00pm. 504 Tower View Apartments. Washington, D.C._**

Why was she here? The question played over in Claire's mind, the air clear but rain falling in her mind. It could have been a scene from a movie, but who was she? The proud heroine or the girl who just wanted to be loved?

'Make a move,' she urged herself. But whether that move would be towards the door or towards her car, she did not know. Her hands trembled, and she knew that it was not because of the cold.

She had not returned her key after the break-up - because that was what it had been, no matter what she told herself - and she found it in the bottom of her purse. But the doorman recognised her before she could use it, welcomed her inside with a warm smile.

"Haven't seen you around in a while, Miss Redfield," he acknowledged.

"I haven't had much of a reason to stop by," she admitted. "Did you have a nice Christmas?"

"The best. It's not often the whole family gets together. He's in, just go right up."

She was deliberately slow in her steps, taking the stairs rather than the elevator. There was no need to rush things. It was entirely possible that he was already asleep.

She paused once again at his door, but forced her hand to raise, to strike his door three times.

He froze when he saw her standing there, looking away as soon as their eyes met. And suddenly, she did not know what to say.

"Claire," he breathed. And her name broke the ice, enough for her to step forward, for him to step aside and let her pass.

It was darker inside his apartment than it was out in the hallway, and it took her eyes a few minutes to adjust. The main light remained inactive, the only source of illumination a lamp in the corner. He swore as she reached for the switch, dashed off into the kitchen area. And as yellow light uncovered all that had once been hidden, she could see why. Take out containers were piled up by the sink, shoved into the trash by his quick hands.

That was the first sign that something was wrong. Leon was an impeccably healthy eater. He cared more about his body than anyone else she knew.

"I haven't been in the mood to cook lately," he laughed nervously. "Late nights at work, lack of energy."

'A broken heart?'

She winced at the thought. It was her heart that had broken, not his. His heart was so guarded that nothing could get through. If love could not touch it, then pain sure as hell would not.

'And there is the anger again.'

The truth was that she had dealt with their breakup phenomenally bad. It had begun with sleepless nights; not out of the usual for her. But then came jealousy when she would see other couples, anger that was directed only at herself.

"Was there something that you wanted?" His voice was hopeful, with nonchalant intent. But she could see right through, could hear that he was simply glad to see her again. No anger, no blame.

'What has the time apart done to us?'

"I honestly don't know," she sighed. "I guess...I missed you. You left so quick on Christmas Day that we didn't get the chance to talk about this."

"Well, you made things pretty clear-"

"Leon," she protested. "I didn't come here to argue. I don't _want_ to argue."

"Then why did you come?" He was desperate, longing to know. Though his words came out as harsh, insult was far from intent. She knew him so well that he may as well have remained silent; his body language was loud enough.

"If I said I miss you, would you believe me?"

The television droned on in the background, the air so thick she feared it would choke her.

He seemed to consider speech she had not intended to pose a question. It was her way of saying 'I miss you' without admitting regret.

"I'd have no choice but to, would I?" he said with a smile. Part of her had hoped that he would beg for her back, that she could admit to her heart's disdain for her actions without revealing it to him. But something told her that he sensed it also, that he was waiting for the admission. It was she who had broken them apart, and so it was she who needed to mend the pieces and form at least a warm friendship out of what was left.

"So you want to be friends?"

"I want to be more," she blurted, control slipping. And then pride and common sense returned to the fore. "God, I can't believe I just said that. Before...before you say anything, just know that...I meant what I said back then. What we had, it wasn't enough for me, and it still isn't. But...that doesn't stop me from wanting to be with you. It should, but somehow... Oh, I don't _know_."

She knew that she should have found a greater grip on her emotions before she sought him out, that she should have rehearsed what to say and set ground rules for herself. But her heart was ahead of her mind, and no matter how she told it not to, it still loved him. The damn thing refused to stop.

"I never meant to hurt you," he told her. As always, he was more composed, more professional. "And somehow, I ended up doing just that. But Claire, I can't give you want I don't have in me to part with in the first place. I do want a life with you, but I'm not in the position to commit to anything right now."

He moved closer, and then again with more confidence when she did not move away. She had never seen so much life in his eyes, nor felt such overwhelming warmth from his touch, but suddenly the fingers on her arm were all she could feel.

"You mean more to me than anyone in this world," he told her, the corners of his lips twitching. "But I can't change. I've tried to! It's just...what I have made myself into. Maybe Ada _is_ partially responsible, maybe you are, maybe I am...maybe it's all Umbrella's fault, or the government's. I...I don't even know anymore."

The emotional blocks that had been built by years of terror were visible to her now. It was not that he did not want to love, more that he had learned how not to. Or at least, how not to accept that he had fallen.

"I want you to be happy. But I just don't think that is possible if you are with me."

She wanted to deny it, but could feel the truth in his words. She was in love with him, and he did truly make her happy. But that wasn't enough. A successful relationship could not be based solely on love and happiness. Love was the flame; it was not the whole fire. And nothing lay for them but ash, swept away by the breeze that so often rushed through their lives.

"I don't care." She was as surprised at her words as he. She was always sensible with her emotions, rather alone than dangerously in love. And this relationship set off multiple alarm bells.

Leon smiled, brushed his hair out of his eyes with one hand.

"I was hoping you would say that."

She did not fight as their lips met, kissed him back with more force than she had ever kissed him before. Because this was what she craved, this was a spark that would always reignite. So what if there was no future? Living for the moment was always her thing. Why should it be any different in a relationship?

Their future was unclear even as she pushed him towards the bedroom. Tonight, she wanted him. Tonight, she _needed_ him. Tomorrow...well, that was a different day.

* * *

**_February 21, 2010. 10:00pm. Arlington, VA._**

Gabriella stepped out into the night, squinting in the low lighting of the street lamps. Somehow, it seemed darker than usual that night.

"You sure you're going to be okay?" Heather asked, an expression of unease falling up on her. "I can drive you home-"

"First, it's not home," she reminded her with a grin. "Second, I spent half of my childhood around monsters, guns and gore. A little darkness is not going to bother me. Besides, it's a ten minute walk, max."

Heather frowned, but seemed to take her response as the final word. She worried too much.

"I'd be more worried about what's _in_ the darkness," she sighed. "Call me when you get home. If you're more than twenty minutes, I'm calling the cops."

Gabriella rolled her eyes and waved a hand in response. And then she left, making a move before her friend could insist on accompanying her.

A chill remained on the air, and her small jacket was not enough to shield her adequately from its bite. But a small jacket was easier to move around in than a larger coat. If there was one thing she had learned from her years on the run, it was that danger could present itself at any moment, and one must always be equipped to face it. Life didn't dole out second chances when it came down to pure survival. You fought or you died. And frankly, she was too damn young to die.

'It was all supposed to end with Umbrella. And now...'

She chuckled softly at her thoughts. It was still a novelty to experience an inner monologue in English, but the effort had paid off. She saw little point in clutching on to her first language; she would never return to Argentina. The memories were...too bitter. So long as her father lived, she did not want to set foot in the country in which he carried out his sentence. Life imprisonment, and yet it still did not seem enough. While her mother still spoke rather civilly of the man who had betrayed them both, she could not. She would be unable to resist the urge to make him pay for all he had done to them, for the scars her innocent mother still bore. The letters he had sent became ash the moment they were handed to her. As she had taken flame to each one, she hoped that a part of him burned with them.

She knew that her father was the reason she took such a great interest in the Tricell case. Her story was not unique; Umbrella had kidnapped plenty of children to force their parents into conducting illegal research, some had simply been murdered to prove a point and others...well, others faced a far more horrific fate. If Tricell were treading the same tracks, their actions would not be much different. How many had died already to suit their purpose? How many more would die if she did nothing?

There was no word from Chris's friend, and though she appreciated that he was busy, she was growing impatient. The longer she waited, the deeper she probed, but she had yet to find anything concrete. Numbers were good, but they would not be enough for an official investigation.

"Excuse me ma'am," a voice muttered. She spun suddenly, hands balling into fists. "Do you have a light?"

He waved an unlit cigarette in her face and she shook her head hastily. She knew better than to hang around, scolded herself for stopping in the first place.

A white car had pulled alongside the opposite row of houses, a shadow moving within. Her instincts were keen, and she knew to run. It could have been an ordinary car, the driver waiting for someone. But she knew better than to take that risk.

She felt the hand on her hair before she registered the footsteps, knew without looking that it was the 'smoker'. And so she thrust her heel up into his groin, jabbed her elbow back as far as she could.

He did not let go, but relaxed his grip enough for her to pull forward, ripping out a clump of hair as she moved.

'Better your hair than your life,' she reminded herself. 'Now _move!_'

She ran, and he followed. She swerved...but he tackled her.

The grass was harder than anticipated, but she swallowed the pain. Something dug into her ribcage as she rolled, legs paralysed by the weight that rested atop them. He clambered up her body, swung a fist into her cheekbone. The impact momentarily dulled her vision, lack of air in her lungs impeding a scream.

'Mace!' she remembered. 'It's Mace!'

For a moment, he basked in his apparent victory, grinned down at her. And then he cried out when her fingers found his eyes, and again when she slammed the heel of her palm into his nose.

Her assailant distracted, she reached into her pocket, withdrew the small canister that had been continuously jabbing her ribs. He merely blinked as he lined up another blow, and sprayed into his eyes. She did not even need to kick; he rolled off her almost immediately. And she ran, moisture trickling down her cheek. She did not have the time to so much as consider the possibility of it being blood.

She never took the back streets, but she did this time. No roads; no chance of being dragged into a moving vehicle.

Everyone was asleep by the time she made it back to her aunt's house. Everyone save for her cousin, the sounds of his PS3 audible as she passed his room.

She kept watch out of the window for a while, retreating only when her head spun too violently to remain upright. Nausea welled but she suppressed it, curling into the foetal position on her bed, can of Mace in hand.

And the moisture that lined her cheeks...the bitter taste told her that it was tears.

* * *

**_February 21, 2010. 11:30pm. 19 Meadow Hills Apartments. Arlington, VA._**

He wore green this time. He always wore blue, but somehow...he wore green. It did not suit him, but she did not mind. He looked good in anything, and in nothing at all.

"It's a dream," Rebecca reminded herself, feeling the need. "You're acting as though he is actually here."

She could tell the difference now, almost immediately. Her mind had conditioned itself, knew despite the intoxicating nature of dreams that this perfectly normal world was not that in which she resided. She could always wake herself up from lucid dreams, if she caught on before nature took care of it for her. If wishing hard enough did not work, leaping from a height often did.

But she had no desire to separate herself from Billy. Perhaps it was unhealthy, but she had grown to quite enjoy their conversations.

"It's talking to yourself," she spoke aloud; she could never think in dreams. "If you keep this up, one day you'll wake in a nice white room."

"You're...talking to yourself," he noted.

"And you're not really here," she spat back. "Can't I sleep in peace for once? You're haunting my damn dreams...nightmares too."

He laughed, and she heard footsteps behind her. Turning to face him, she made to protest but found that she could not.

"You think I'm some kind of ghost?"

She frowned, leaned back against the dining table.

"I don't believe in ghosts," she told him flatly. "But I suppose that's a good way to describe what you are."

"Hmm, because I'm still alive in here?" He prodded her forehead with a finger. "That's a little corny, don'tcha think?"

Why did he have to be so like the Billy she knew? One night was not enough to make her long for him, but the extended moments she tortured herself with sent her plummeting into grief.

His arms wound around her, lips pressing against her cheekbone.

"If you don't want to talk to me, all you have to do is wake up."

The hands that pushed against him slid down, fell to his waist. And then she pulled him in close, wishing that he was warm.

"I don't want to," she whispered.

He held her back, and she found that warmth was not needed. But with comfort also came regret, nostalgia, and a powerful sense of anger. Because it was not fair that his life had been stolen, that he had barely been given opportunity to enjoy his freedom. And it was not fair that she could not have gotten to know him better.

"Why are you so hung up on me?" he wanted to know. And with a voice that soft, how could she not answer?

"Because...I felt...important with you." Truthfully, she had not known herself. The answer came through her; realisation through words. "And...saying goodbye to you was more painful than it should have been. You were a friend to me, Billy, and...I miss you."

She never cried in dreams. And so although her eyes ached, no emotion bled out.

He gently pushed her back after a moment's silence, smoothed down hair that had apparently become flyaway.

"You need to wake up," he urged. "And you need to forget about me. Don't look for me, and don't let me find you. You're grieving, and this is not healthy."

Agreement came with a heavy dosage of pain, and though she nodded, she clung desperately to him. The friend that got away. Because she did not have many, not with her workaholic attitude and reluctance to trust. Those she had, she was slowly losing to marriage and children.

"I think I'll stay a while," she resolved. "And then...when I go...I'm gone for good."

Above all else, she knew it was what the real Billy Coen would have wanted.

* * *

**_February 22, 2010. 3:40am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Chris woke alone, to darkness and to sheets that had lost their warmth. He thought nothing of it at first. She was up at all hours of the night, if not for the call of nature, then simply to wander if sleep eluded her.

But then the silence became too much. It was not the still silence of the night, not the dull emptiness of isolation. It was the silence of a void, a vacuum; a complete lack of sound...and life.

"Jill?"

The light of the ensuite was off, no footsteps sounding in the distance.

As concern gripped him, he rose to his feet, surprised to find that fatigue didn't weigh him down. Something was not right, he surmised as he scanned the room. Something was_...off_. Like a single note in a song; enough to know that something had changed, but not enough to know exactly what it was.

The firearm Jill kept duct-taped to the back of her bedside table - for emergencies - was absent. He had fallen asleep on her side of the bed, but checked the other just to be sure. And the pistol he left in his drawer was gone too, along with all the paper, pens, painkillers and occasional condom that occupied the space. The small walk-in closet was the same; clothes hanging but nothing in the bureaus.

'Is this a dream?' he wondered. The room was purely aesthetic, with items decorating but nothing filling, nothing beyond what the eye would not immediately see. 'It feels so real. And where is Jill?'

Because even after all these years, he still dreamt of her.

He left the master bedroom, freezing just beyond the door.

Glass, from floor to ceiling. An impenetrable wall of it, blocking half of the house from his access; the half with the stairs.

'It's a dream, it's a dream. Wake up.'

He jumped when she appeared suddenly against the glass, a world that had begun to slip out of focus sharp once again.

"Jill!" he cried.

She beat against the glass with both hands, nothing but darkness behind her. Desperation and fear were translated through every shadow on her face, every tear that carved through them. And he too beat upon the smooth surface, screamed her name. Her screams were silent.

"Shit!" he growled. "I can't break through. I'll...I'll be right back."

He needed to find something to break through the glass, something to smash his way to her. A lamp! The lamps on their bedside tables had metal bases. It was better than nothing.

He was quick to retrieve one, heart pounding in his ears.

She was frantic when he returned, screaming, doubling over in agony.

"The baby," he breathed. "She's coming?"

Without waiting for a mimed answer, he slammed the lamp against the glass. Nothing. Not even a crack. Putting all of his weight into blow, he swung once again.

Nothing.

He dropped to his knees, the palm of his right hand flat against the barrier. Hers joined his, but he was sure that it was accidental.

"Help me," her lips read.

His legs carried him to the study, to his grandfather's old hunting rifle, locked away in a glass-fronted cabinet. With three forceful blows, the lamp shattered the glass, and he reached inside, shards tearing at his skin. But he felt no pain, focused only on the weapon. There were no bullets, and those for their Samurai Edge Berettas remained locked away, likely vanished. But the firearm was heavy, much heavier than the lamp.

Movement ceased when he saw her, cradling an infant in her arms. She was seated on the floor, blood smeared against her nightdress. The umbilical cord was still attached, the child wrinkled and pink. His heart wrenched as he dropped before them, reaching out as though he could reach through the glass.

Purple circles were drawn beneath Jill's eyes, but her smile shone through. The girl played with an offered finger, moved slowly in her mother's arms. She was silent, though not because of the glass. Chris wanted to hold her, to hold them both and for once in his forsaken life, cry tears of pure, unadulterated happiness.

Jill was weak, her eyelids drooping. And the situation at hand once again became prominent.

The rifle did not even scratch the glass. He was gone before it hit the floor, scouring the study for another implement. But there was nothing. Nothing as hard or as sturdy as the butt of his grandfather's rifle.

'If...if you feel along the glass, maybe...maybe there's an opening somewhere.'

It was a weak option, but the only one he had left.

But when he returned, there was nothing on the other side. And that nothingness seemed to loom, to throb and pummel the glass as she once had.

She who was now nowhere to be seen.

A circle of blood marked where she had sat, told him that she had not been some spectre in his mind's eye. It smeared up the glass, strips of torn fabric saturated along with the carpet.

There was little point in trying. Failure was evident, brought him to his knees again. Jill was gone, the baby too. His whole world.

"You failed," called a voice from the other side. Sound now permeated the veil, her voice just as he remembered it.

"Daddy, you failed!"

"Failed."

"You failed."

"Ha ha ha, you failed!"

"Did you even try, Chris?" It was Wesker's voice this time, taunting and acidic. "And you said I was the monster…"

The darkness pressed forward, swallowed the blood, swallowed the barrier...swallowed him.

He woke, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the world he knew he could trust. And he trembled, shaken in a way real horror had never affected him.

And then shadows became shapes, a cylinder became a silencer.

'What the fuck?'

His eyes shot up to the face concealed beneath a black mask, to the gloved hands that held a particularly large gun - it was too dark to recognise what model - to his head.

'Jill!'

The sheets fell to his waist as turned to wake her. But she was already upright, arms across her bump as she stared down another assailant at the foot of their bed.

There were six in total, all armed from boot to helmet. And they blended into the shadows, horrifying creatures that they were.

"I guess...I _was_ being followed," she muttered. Because although every weapon was trained on him, all eyes were on her.

Without even thinking, he spread out his right arm, covered her as well as he could without climbing on top of her. Sleep had still not quite left his senses, and though he understood the situation, his mind continued to whisper that it was a dream, that he would wake up and all would be fine.

But then he leaned back a little, saw the gun taped to the back of the bedside table. He could reach for it, could defend his family. But he would be dead before he ripped it from the wood, Jill too. It was a risk he could not take.

"Who the hell are you?" he growled.

"Miss Valentine, you're coming with us," one informed the woman at his side. He could not discern which figure had spoken, eyes darting from one concealed face to another.

"Like hell she is!"

Clicks echoed around them and she cried out, grasping his arm.

"Chris, don't," she begged. Moonlight reflected off fallen tears, the terror in her eyes prominent, unshielded.

"We will take you by force if we have to," the same voice revealed.

He hated the sensation of being utterly helpless, but he had never felt so powerless in a long time, not since he watched her fall to her supposed death. If he fought back, she would die; if he remained silent, they would take her. Either way, she was lost.

"Promise that you won't harm him."

Jill's words could through him. She never gave up, never gave in. She had fought to the bitter end so many times in her life, why give up now?

"What are you-?"

"Chris, please!" she begged. Tears ran harder, faster. Her voice could melt a god, and he was mere man. He would always bend to her will. "They will kill you if you try to stop them. And if you die...who will come find me?"

It was not even a question; it was a plea. So ready to give her life for him...but this time it was not only hers that hung in the balance.

"Please don't make me watch you die."

A hand pressed to his cheek, her forehead touching his as she spoke. It was that warmth that they were threatening to take away, that softness that would be stolen. She had already been kidnapped twice in her life, and both instances had hurt her deeply. A third could kill her. She did not deserve this.

"I can't lose you again," he whispered. But then he nodded slowly, her lips stealing away breath for protest.

"You won't," she promised.

And then she was gone, a gloved hand pulling on her arm. She stumbled as she tried to find her footing, locking eyes with him even as she moved from the bed.

She was safe now. It was just him. He knew where the gun was, knew that he could take them out as they retreated.

But they were faster, and darkness moved towards him as it had in his dream. A shadow, hard, round, and undeniably real. Not content with his lover and his unborn child, they stole his consciousness also.

**AN - Please review :).**


	16. Down The Rabbit Hole

**AN - **Welcome to part three ^_^. I downsized Chris's role a little in this chapter. Once I started writing, I realised that what I had planned just didn't feel right. Nothing important was cut, I just decided to focus on what needed to be said. I hope you all enjoy the chapter.

Another big thank you to everyone who reviewed - _Ultimolu, Kenshin13, cea, x-Artichoke-x, 86, Skiptrix, Black Metalmark, Ryoko Metallium, xSummonerYunax, tek_ and Ninja_-Gnome_. You make all the hours I spend staring at the screen totally worth it ^_^. I've not really been on top of replying (sorry!) but a few of you did ask about Ada's letter to Leon. While you won't know word for word what she wrote, by the end of the story you will know what she said :).  
Apologies for the lack of line break at the start of this chapter. For some reason, it screwed up the formatting (which is screwed up anyway; underlines are disappearing).

~X~

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Part Three - Fragility_**

**_Chapter Fifteen - _**_Down The Rabbit Hole_

_'I wonder if I've been changed in the night?  
Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning?  
I almost think I can remember feeling a little different.  
But if I'm not the same, the next question is "Who in the world am I?"'  
_~Lewis Carroll~

**_February 22, 2010. 7:00am. Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Gabriella never rose this early. She was not a morning person, not by any stretch of the imagination. But she had hardly woken; sleep had not come to her at all.

Her cheek throbbed, not only bruised but also swelling. The body that was without rest ached and the painkillers she had knocked back an hour ago barely took the edge off the pain. Fleeing before her mother rose was all she knew to do. First would come the worry, the desperation to make her assailant pay. Then would come the scolding. Because Alejandra always yelled.

It was the source of her self-defence habits that she sought out. The father figure she had looked up to in the years of silent war. Chris would listen without freaking out, he would tackle this rationally. More than that, he would know what to do.

'So you're admitting that you need protection now?'

She was in too deep this time. There were some things that a person just could not handle alone.

The number of the Redfield residence eluded her, and so she relied on mail boxes alone to find the house. Sycamore Avenue was a long street, and so she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw his surname on the mailbox of number twenty-four.

Ingrained defence mechanisms kicked in the moment she stepped onto the driveway. She prided herself on her instincts, and found that she automatically reached for the Mace she had not allowed to leave her sight since the previous night.

The door was open when she prepared to knock, much to her surprise. Chris hated early mornings as much as she did and though Jill was a typically early riser, the hour was not yet typical enough.

It was quiet inside; peaceful and neat. It was a big house, well decorated and radiating a warm family aura. Obvious was the fact that Jill had decorated, everything from ornaments to the pictures on the wall reminiscent of her. There was a lot of love in that home, but something broke through, something screamed at her.

"Chris?" she called quietly as she climbed the stairs. "Jill? Anybody home?"

She found the nursery first, shied away for fear of invasion. When her brother was born, she was not allowed to touch anything in his room; even the clothes that he wore were precious to their mother. After everything Chris and Jill had been through, she felt that the same protectiveness would be present.

The master bedroom was found at the back of the house, and no light shone from behind the door, which had been left slightly ajar. She pushed gently, tiptoeing inside.

Chris lay sleeping beneath the sheets, but Jill was nowhere to be seen.

'She went to the store, didn't close the door properly and you just barged right in,' she sighed. 'Just go wait downstairs.'

As she turned, she saw it. A small smudge of crimson against Chris's forehead. She had mistaken it for a shadow at first, but with a quick flick of the light switch, she recognised blood, and the early stages of what looked to be a pretty nasty bruise.

Paralyzed, she remained in the doorway, watching his chest rise and fall. When movement returned, she rushed to check his pulse out of habit, knowing that she would feel the steady beat. The wound on his forehead was new, uncared for. And though he merely slept, she knew that he had not entered his slumber from a waking state.

The bed bounced as she reached back for the phone that rested in its cradle. But still he slept, oblivious to the wound, and to her.

She dared not wake him. With Jill out of sight, likely missing, she did not wish to be the first person he saw.

And so, she dialled.

* * *

**_February 22, 2010. 7:15am. 504 Tower View Apartments. Washington, D.C._**

Claire woke to contentment, earlier than she would have had she woken alone. He was awake too, watching her, smiling down at her.

"Good morning," Leon said, eyes brighter than she had ever seen them. "God, I missed waking next to you."

And she too smiled, to her own surprise. She had left her emotions behind last night, and now that they had caught up with her...she was lost.

Because never before had she realised the extent to which she truly loved this man.

So she said nothing, afraid to break the moment, and moved closer to him, lost this time to his warmth.

"I love you," she whispered into his chest. He needed to know, even if he did not return the sentiment.

What to make of all this? Comfort was found in every moment of the previous night, in every breath that morning. The happiness that had eluded her since Christmas had found its way home. Wherever he was, it would follow, it seemed.

"Take me back," he whispered. "Please. I need you."

In many ways, need was more than want, and perhaps even more than love.

She pretended to consider his point, but the truth was that it took very little thought. Because, unbeknownst to her, her mind had been made up the moment she walked through his door.

"I want to be with you," she let him know. Because it would be on her terms, and no other way. "But..."

Inhaling deeply, she pulled back to look him in the eye, wanting him to know just how serious she was about the terms of such a reunion.

"We are non-exclusive." It was not a request. "That is the only way I can do this. If...if this is going nowhere then I don't want to waste my time and miss something that _could_ lead somewhere."

It was only fair.

Pain became etched in his expression, but he nodded, swallowing pride for the sake of being with her. Part of her felt that he would not obey the conditions, but she wanted to lay them anyway.

"This_ is_ going somewhere," he assured her. His eyes were suddenly fearful and he drew a shuddering breath. "Claire...I- I can't help being like this. But I don't want to lose you. Never. Because the truth is...Claire, I..."

Her cell phone was loud, and its ear-splitting ring cut through the moment with enough force to place distance between them. She cursed the caller, chose to ignore the insistent noise. But Leon reached down, pulled it from the jeans that had fallen on his side of the bed.

"It's Chris," he groaned, and then answered. "Isn't this a little early for you?"

With a sigh, she rolled onto her back. Whatever he was going to say, she would never hear it now. Leon was a man who very much lived in the moment. Once broken, there was no retracing steps.

There was little point in swiping the phone from his hand; she had little desire to talk to her brother at this hour.

'Oh shit.'

Realisation pounded against her and she shrank down, pulled the bed sheets over her head. There was only one reason why she would be at Leon's so early, and Chris was no genius but even he would put two and two together.

"Wait, who is this?"

Curious, she emerged. He raised a hand to silence her before she could speak.

"Oh...the girl with the data?"

And then he moved, sitting upright so quickly that the sheets were pulled away from her. His cheeks ran pale, features that were always so soft in her presence tightening. The lover vanished, the agent assuming control.

Worry was all that filled her mind, but she was too afraid to speak.

"Okay," he told the caller. "Okay, just calm down, we're on our way."

As he ended the call, he swore vehemently and threw the cell at her side of the mattress. He was on his feet before it rolled into her grasp, forgoing a shower to slip immediately into his jeans.

"We have to go," he told her. No love, tenderness that had been evident moments ago now vanished, no clue that it had ever been there.

"What is it? What happened?"

Her own jeans slapped against her chest, and he threw her T-shirt next.

"That was…Gabriella," he answered, separating his socks from hers. "Chris has been attacked and...Jill's missing."

* * *

**_February 22, 2010. 8:00am. Location unknown._**

Jill opened her eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. The room was dark, but it _felt_ different from the moment consciousness returned to her. And it was not the welcome difference of a comfortable hotel room. Though, as she flicked on the bedside lamp, she saw that it may as well have been just that.

The floor was comfortably carpeted, the walls papered and decorated with a single painting – a lake in springtime. A bureau stood in the corner, a television resting upon it. There was a small bookshelf by an armchair and a door that she assumed led to an ensuite bathroom; however small it would be, given the size of the room. Even a small portable heater stood in one corner.

She could barely remember being escorted to the cell; the pull of sleep proved too strong, and she was out as soon as her head hit the pillow. All she could remember was a long, winding journey, and impenetrable silence. She had attempted to draw a mental map of where they had taken her, but there were simply too many twists and turns. It was likely that they had driven in circles, hoping to confuse her.

'Chris...'

Her thoughts drifted to the man she had left behind. He would find her, she was sure of it. If there was anything in this world she could count on, it was the determination of a Redfield...and the strong heart and heroic nature of her fiancé.

'You have to make the best of a bad situation,' she told herself.

But as she stumbled over to the small, barred window and threw open the curtains, she took in the full extent of the decoration of her cell. They wanted her to be comfortable. In her mind, that meant only one thing; it was her baby that they wanted, not her.

"Hey."

She jumped, eyes darting to the door as the strange voice flooded into her cell. The direction was indiscernible, and her nerves were already on edge.

"Is somebody there?"

"Who is that?" she demanded. "Where are you?"

"Down here," it told her, serious but not cold in any respect. "Um...left wall."

Turning, she caught sight of a small grate on the left-hand wall; the only sign of what the room had once been; a cold, dirty cell.

Carefully, she lowered herself down onto the plush carpet (she could tell that it had been fitted only recently), positioning herself to see through the ventilation. Vision was limited, but she could just make out a face on the other side, features obscured.

"Welcome to the neighbourhood," her neighbour chuckled forlornly. "Sorry that you got caught up in this."

She wondered where the apology had come from. Whoever this was, she did not know them; how could she even trust them?

"I'm not even sure what 'this' is," she admitted. "You're a prisoner too? How long have you been here?"

'Don't trust him,' common sense told her. 'He could be an agent of the enemy.'

But her gut instinct told her that she had nothing to fear. There was something kind about his voice, faded optimism present despite the circumstances. And it reminded her of Chris's, from an era long since past. Had she not known each level of her fiancé's voice by heart, she was sure she would have mistaken her neighbour for him.

"That depends," he sighed. "What is the date?"

"February twenty-second. Depending on how long I've been sleeping."

"Twenty-ten?"

"Yes."

He sighed, agony evident in a single breath.

"It was October '09 last time I looked at a calendar," he told her in dismay. "It feels a lot longer than four months."

Jill did not know what to say. Four months was nothing to her, and it would be nothing in that moment, were it not for the life that grew within her. She had four months, her daughter did not.

"Do you have a name?" Trust extended. Whatever the situation was, they were in it together. As a prisoner of a considerable timeframe, he would know more than she did; it was an advantage she could not pass up.

"Billy. Not William, not Bill, just...Billy."

Billy's voice was young, though she could tell by the way his words were spoken that he was older than she, perhaps even older than her partner.

'Still thinking of him as your partner, huh?'

He was terrified, though he restrained emotion; mature in a way words alone could not express. And somehow, she felt that the fear did not stem from captivity.

"Jill Valentine," she said, knowing that a name was worth little in such a moment.

But Billy evidently thought otherwise, and she heard him shift on the other side of the grate, edging closer.

"Jill Valentine?" he repeated, grasping onto something she did not quite understand. "S.T.A.R.S.?"

Now it was her turn to move, head rising from the arm it had rested against. S.T.A.R.S. had become a household name following the incident in Raccoon, but these days she was known for far much more. It was always 'The girl from Kijuju?' or 'The kidnapped BSAA agent?'. 'S.T.A.R.S.' was a word that was rarely spoken to her these days.

"S.T.A.R.S. was another life," she responded. "But...yes, I was with S.T.A.R.S. until...until the end. What does that mean to you?"

"Rebecca Chambers," he spluttered with rushed urgency. "You still know her?"

"She's one of my best friends. How-"

"Is she okay?"

The question confused her. Rebecca did not know many people outside of their shared friend group, and she certainly did not know anyone who had recently vanished.

"No offence, but I'd rather not talk about my friend with a stranger," she told him, harsher than she had intended. "I don't even know who you are."

He laughed, happiness shining through in paper-thin rays.

Talking to him may have been easy, may have felt natural to her, but she cared more for her friend's safety than she did for gaining a companion in this hell-hole.

"Billy Coen," he told her. "My name is Billy Coen, if that helps with the trusting me issue. I...I owe my life to Rebecca Chambers."

Billy Coen. The name struck chords in her mind, brought back a brief conversation she had engaged in with her friend on Christmas Day.

"That's impossible," she muttered. "Billy Coen is dead."

"Then she kept her promise."

"No! She said you died in a house fire!"

Silence.

It was not what he had expected to hear, she could sense that. Had he honestly not expected her to hunt him down when the war was over? More to the point, if her name still held meaning to him, why had he not sought her out himself?

The rage that built in her chest was quelled immediately by the realisation that there was simply nothing that arguing with him would achieve. Rebecca could fight her own battles, and would simply be glad to know that he still lived.

"I wasn't in my apartment when it burned down." His voice was sombre now, and the expression that appeared in her mind wiped all anger from her senses. "Innocent people died because of me. I couldn't face the world after that, not as Billy Coen. Running was always easier; it's what I'm best at."

"And you ran straight into the arms of the enemy?"

He chuckled sadly, shifted again.

"I set myself up as a private investigator," Billy explained. "It wasn't exactly above the board, if you get what I mean. I dealt with a lot of clients hurt by the fallout of Umbrella's dissolution. One day, some guy comes to me with pretty damning evidence against his employers - a world-renowned pharmaceutical company. Not long after, he's murdered and…well, I wind up here."

His story was beginning to sound horribly familiar. Where money and power were concerned, cycles tended to appear. The mighty would fall, the meek would suffer and then like a vulture, someone new would swoop down upon the wreckage, think that they could make a failed design work, and then the cycle would repeat all over again.

"Let me guess," she mused. "You still have this evidence and they're trying to get it back?"

More laughter.

"I think they know by now that I'm not talking," he told her. "They have done everything they possibly could to beat the information out of me. But that data is worth more than my life."

And they would not kill him because the whereabouts of the data would die with him. They could not risk having it floating around out there. So he remained in limbo, denied both death and life.

His loneliness seeped through his speech. Ordinarily she would not have trusted a fellow prisoner who was so open to a stranger, nor one who talked so much. But after so long alone, she felt that simply talking to someone must be an unparalleled pleasure to him.

"What about you?" he asked. "What's your crime?"

It was then that she realised that her left arm had been subconsciously holding her bump. It seemed smaller beneath her nightdress, but she knew better than to be fooled.

If her captors were agents of a corporation such as Umbrella, the horrors that her daughter faced were unimaginable. She could only assume by her comfortable living quarters that they were allowing her to reach full term and deliver the baby when it decided to arrive of its own accord. If natural was how they wanted the pregnancy to progress, then they would refrain from interfering in the growth, from beginning the process of creating a tyrant.

'If they want her as a normal child, what does that mean?'

"Becoming pregnant," she answered. Because the possibilities were unknown, and that alone terrified her.

There was no movement this time, simply shocked silence that carried through the grate. Billy breathed deeply, exhaled sharply before speaking.

"You're pregnant?" It was not difficult to discern the shock in his speech. "H-How far along?"

"Nine months," she revealed, fighting back tears. "Almost full term."

"Shit."

'They won't get their hands on her,' she reminded herself. She had promised herself that she would not cry. 'Chris will find you and when you give birth, it will be with him by your side, holding your hand, not strapped to some operating table.'

"I'm getting out of here," she told him. The need to voice her hope became overwhelming. "My friends...they're coming for me. We're _both_ getting out of here."

Did she expect him to be convinced by her words? The pregnant stranger who conversed so casually it may as well have been over dinner?

"Is that why you sound so calm? No offense, but even I wasn't so held-together on my first day. And I didn't have a baby to worry about."

Glancing around her cell, she felt the fear he hinted at. She simply did not allow it to overwhelm her. What use would she be if she was a crying, snivelling mess? Sure, she worried about her unborn child, she missed her fiancé and her friends, and there at the back of the mind lay the niggling suspicion that these were her last days. But the emotion was useless to her.

'You spent every night in tears in Kijuju.'

And for the first time, she saw the meaning behind Chris's words. She _had_ changed. Her old self had found its way home, and it had learnt some tricks along the way. She understood herself more, knew that her limits were flexible, and that it was _okay_ to be rescued every once in a while; she had travelled to hell and back and was somehow still in one piece. It was a state of enlightenment that could not be translated into words.

"It's not the first time I've been kidnapped." It was easier to explain this way. "And I have faith in my friends. There is no point in crying over something that you can't change."

* * *

**_February 22, 2010. 9:00am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

At the height of her depression, Jill had told him that she could sit in a room full of friends, the centre of attention, and still feel incredibly alone. Chris felt it now, the vacuum she had existed in for so long. Isolation had been his drug of choice during his own battle with the illness, after the first time he lost her..

'It shouldn't be like that,' he knew. 'It shouldn't be "the first time" or "this time". It shouldn't happen at all.'

Claire's arm still rested around his shoulders, but he derived no comfort from the act. Even the pain he knew he should feel from the injury was absent.

She had been there, right at his side...and they had taken her. _Right there_. And there was nothing he could have done.

'Why couldn't I do anything? If I can't even protect her...'

It was all his fault, but he dared not lose himself to the thought. She would be lost forever if he succumbed to looming, catastrophic guilt. Everything that had happened over the last few months, every suspicion and complaint she had shared with him...they were all real. If only he had listened, if only he had taken notice...

"Please tell me you have good news." Claire's voice pulled him from the void, and he looked over to Connolly. When had he returned?

And when the medic shook his head sombrely, morale dropped a further peg.

"They won't do anything," he fumed. The choice of the word 'won't' was not accidental. "Jill has no current living enemies, and there is nothing to suggest that this is linked to bioterrorism in any way, so they said it was a matter for the police, not the BSAA."

"That's bullshit!" Alejandra cried. Chris could not even remember her arrival, nor that of Matthew. She had not changed one bit; still the tanned, scarred, vibrant ball of personality he had once known. Even she seemed not to have aged, simply chose to pull her brunette curls back into a ponytail rather than let them hang.

"That's what I said," Connolly agreed. "I tried to argue but they...had me escorted from the premises."

"So what do we do now?"

It seemed that Claire was acting as his voice, nobody expecting him to speak up.

"We call the police," Rebecca pointed out.

"No!" It was his voice this time, but he did not feel it leave. And every expression that loomed before him bled protest into the well of bubbling emotion that their lounge had become. "If we call the cops, she becomes just one more missing person. They'll look in all the wrong places, and somewhere down the line they'll give up. If we talk to them, we'll have our hands tied."

Interfering with an investigation was what they would call it. Jill would become another statistic and the girl...the baby would become nothing at all. She had no birth certificate; they would see only one victim, not two.

"We'll look for her ourselves."

Connolly hummed in agreement; a predictable answer. The man had a damn heart of gold; he was morality in human form.

"Chris is right," Leon told them all, speaking up before anyone could protest not bringing the law into the fray. "From Chris's description of the perpetrators, they are well-organised and well-equipped; professionals. And knowing our past, I'd say they _are_ connected to bioterrorism in some way. Remnants of Umbrella, perhaps."

It made perfect sense, even to Chris's clouded mind.

"If that is the case," Leon continued. "Then I'd say they planned it like this. Why else would they have let Chris live? If one of the BSAA's top agents goes missing and another is murdered, the BSAA, the FBI, you name it, would be all over the case. Under new bioterrorism laws, and given the nature of her immunity and the identity of the last two men to kidnap her, the powers that be could treat the assailants as terrorists."

"Which would leave us with a hell of a lot of power at our disposal," Barry acknowledged grimly.

"Precisely. As it stands now, it's a simple kidnapping in the eyes of the law. They are cocky; they know that we will hunt for her ourselves and they think that we will fail, especially if the cops get involved."

"And what if they're right?" Chris sighed. "I'm going to fight like hell for this, but what if this time their confidence is not plain arrogance?"

Because they had planned this for months, evidently knew of her medical history to manipulate her the way they did; whoever they were, they had connections. Even the date was suspiciously convenient; he should have been in New York right now. Was that their intention all along? To drive her friends into believing that she was crazy, so that her sudden disappearance was misconstrued as her running away?

No, he would not lose himself to guilt. It was what it was and it was best that it was left at that.

But the ache persisted, threatened to drag him to depriving new depths before his friends.

'They took everything. You shouldn't be sitting here discussing things, you should be making them pay!'

"I'll make some calls," Leon told him, failing to disguise a frown. "As an agent, I can't take on a case like this, but I can use what we have to help find her. The government recognises that she has been a great asset in the past. They owe a lot to the BSAA and to its founding members; even if they could stop me, I don't think they would."

His cold approach to the subject would have angered Chris, had it not been for the general silence that had gripped the group. Nobody had spoken a word about how they felt, perhaps kept it inside for his sake. That in itself angered him.

"If they knew her medical history, they may have a contact at St. Mary's," Rebecca noted. "Connolly and I will poke around there, see what we can find."

Jill had come into contact with so many medical professionals over the last year; it could have been any one of them. Was it Dr. Keller, the woman they had both placed considerable trust in? Could it have been her midwife, or one of the nurses that had taken care of her during her treatment?

It could just have easily been a skilled hacker who lived nearby, but the point was that he simply did not know who to trust. He could not even trust himself.

"You won't find anything," Gabriella muttered. She had been unusually quiet ever since he had woken to find her at the foot of his bed, crying into the handset of his phone. "It's Tricell. Tricell took her."

"Gabby," her mother sighed. But she pushed the arms that had held her away, patience evidently wearing thin.

"No!" the girl cried. "I didn't get into a fight, mum; I was _attacked_. It had to be them; they know I'm on to what they're doing. And a few hours later, Jill was kidnapped just a few miles away. That can't be a coincidence."

Chris saw the sense in her assumption. Jill had never trusted Tricell, not after Excella's actions. How could one woman get away with so much on her own? If they did not know what she was up to, they simply did not care. And somehow, that made it all the more terrifying; reckless destruction.

Following the incident in Kijuju, Tricell were retained as members of the GPC, but barred from involvement in the development of the V-17 vaccine. They were refused data, and samples that had been distributed freely amongst the other members. If their intentions were as dark as Umbrella's once were, they would not simply stand by and accept the block.

'Then why now? Why not take her when the decision was handed down?'

Acquired immunity was not half as appealing as natural immunity; and their daughter would be the first to possess such an advantage. Why kidnap her so close to her due date if she was the one they wanted?

"They want the baby," he told them. "I don't know why, but...it just makes sense."

* * *

**_February 22, 2010. 10:00am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Hunnigan had called twice already, desperate to know where he was. She cared about his job more than she did her own sometimes. But a quick explanation was all that was needed to placate her and once again she claimed to his superiors that he had called in sick. She had promised that she would help where she could, would dig around in Tricell's records to see if there was any possible cause for an investigation. At the very least, it would allow them to bring forth their theory without being shot down.

Searching through Jill's possessions had been Claire's idea, and though he had agreed to its usefulness, now he was not so sure. She did not even keep a diary these days, or notes of any kind; there was nothing to find save bank statements and letters from friends. He read each correspondence in turn, but found nothing more than regular exchanges and well-wishes.

However, there was one item, sandwiched between the rest, that caught his attention. A stiff, folded card that was perhaps large enough to house a photograph, but little more. But it was not a photograph that lay inside; it was an ultrasound picture. The foetus was small, little older than a couple of months, but he could make out the shape amidst the darkness.

_"This isn't just about Jill!" Chris roared. Barry rose with him, ready to restrain his friend if need be. "The baby is due in four weeks!"_

_"Then we have four weeks." Leon did not mean to come across as cold and unfeeling, but it was the only way he knew to act in such a situation. If he lost his cool, if he listened to emotion, then he would be no use at all. "If they want the baby, and they kidnapped her at such a late stage of pregnancy, I'm willing to bet that they want her to give birth naturally. If that's true, then it gives us four weeks before we have to start worrying about her; they'll take care of her until then."_

'Jill can handle herself, but Chris was right; this isn't just about her.'

Suddenly, he felt the loss deep in his chest. His blood ran cold, heart shuddering against the icy grip. No matter how objectively he thought about this, Jill was his friend and he could not help but take her disappearance personally.

He knew what he had to do, knew that there was one way to bring her back. Though he knew in his heart that he would go to the ends of the earth for his friends, he hesitated. Because it was not an option he had ever expected to be forced to consider.

'This isn't about you,' he reminded himself sternly. 'It's about Jill, and it's about her baby. They could die, and-'

With painful force, he silenced his thoughts. He knew what would happen, knew what the implications would be for all of them.

The scan floated in his field of vision, and he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. The second victim, the nameless one.

His cell was in his hand before he had processed the thought. Was the number still the same? Would they listen to him? More to the point: would they help?

There was never an answer, always straight to voicemail. But response had often been prompt, with messages frequently collected. He would not have been surprised if all calls were screened.

"It's Leon...Kennedy," he told the mechanical voice. "Listen, I- I need your help. Maybe I don't have the right to ask this of you, but I don't know who else to turn to. I can't talk over the phone, so I'll be at Tryst in D.C. at eleven am tomorrow. Meet me there."

Thoughts threatened to materialise into words, but he bit them back. Now was neither the time nor place. He could deal with emotion when Jill was back with her friends, safe and sound while her captors reeled from well-executed vengeance.

"Please," he begged. "There's a _child_ involved this time."

The call ended before he could empty his heart, and he closed the card. He already thought of the child as his niece, no matter how his relationship with Claire was faring. Jill had always been like a sister to him; relation was irrelevant.

He sensed Claire by the door before he turned, wondering how long she had been waiting. Her expression was solemn, and she hugged herself tightly with both arms, trembling despite the warmth of the master bedroom.

"Chris left with the Burtons," she mumbled. "Jill had an appointment with Dr. Keller at half ten; they're going to talk to her, find out if anything was said in her sessions that..."

Unable to finish her sentence, she cringed, made no effort to bat away the tear that snaked its way down her cheek. Further heartstrings were plucked and he rushed forward to hold her, feeling her pain as though it were his own.

"Leon, I've got the awful feeling we're not going to see her again," she wept. Her tone cut right through him, threatened to draw forth tears he had never shed in front of another. Even now, in a moment so severe, he felt her through to the very core.

"We will," he promised her. "And you know she wouldn't want you to cry for her. So come on, pull yourself together."

He felt her nod lightly, but fresh tears still fell when she pulled back.

"I wish Chris was angry," she sniffed. "I've never seen him so quiet, so...sad. He knows it's our fault, for ignoring her when we should have been helping her. God, I just wish he was _angry_."

Chris's silence had shocked them all. All he had done since they found him was walk around in a daze. Rebecca believed that he may have suffered a concussion, but he would not allow her to do anything more than clean the shallow wound on his forehead. And when he did yell, he would fall into silence a moment later, head in his hands. It was unsettling, to say the least, signifying an emotional wound that had struck deeper than his superficial defences.

While it was nice to work without the Hyde side of his personality breathing down their necks, he wished only that he was with them in both body and mind.

"He's just thinking," he guessed. "He knows he can't rush into this. If we want to find her, we need to think and we need to plan."

Claire chuckled humourlessly, digging in her pocket for a tissue.

"Two things my brother is not well known for," she joked. "I didn't find anything in the study. Just bills and...information about wedding venues."

Surreptitiously, he dropped his gaze to the card that remained in his hand. There was no point in showing it to her; it would only upset her further. But he knew that he had to leave, knew that there were leads he could follow up at the office. It was not that he did not trust Hunnigan, but they could work much faster if they worked together.

"I have to go," he told her. "I can't do anything if I just sit around here."

While he expected an argument, she simply nodded again and began to clear away the small pile of paperwork he had sorted through on the bed. If she noticed the card in his hands, she did not mention it.

Knowing that conversation was perhaps the last thing on her mind, Leon's guilt over leaving faded into nothing. Tucking the card inside his jacket, he left.

* * *

**_February 22, 2010. 12:00pm. Location unknown._**

They did not speak a word when they came with food, simply placed it on the desk by the heater and left. Jill had barely expected food, let alone a meal that made her mouth water by scent alone. Whoever they were, they knew good food.

'You've been here half a day and you still haven't asked who "they" are,' she scolded herself. But there would be time; if the others found her it would not be for quite some time. And when they did, 'their' identity would not matter; they would have little more than a number to identify them for the remainder of their days.

She wolfed down the meal, refilling her glass by way of the small water and ice machine she had missed on her initial scan of the room. And in the back of her mind, she wondered if they would bring dessert if she asked.

'You are not on holiday. Billy was right; you're far too calm. You should be freaking out right now.'

Where was Billy? They had pulled her from her cell an hour ago, silent as they walked her round walled gardens somewhere in the complex, returning only when she complained of her aching back. Exercise and sunlight, she assumed; not kindness. Her neighbour had been absent on her return.

Her thoughts barely strayed to the possibilities when she heard the neighbouring door creak open. Something flopped onto the ground, a door slammed, lock turned, and then heavy footsteps disappeared down the hallway.

"Billy?" she asked when their wing was isolated once again.

There was no answer, but faint movement could be heard through the grate that had become their one line of communication.

"Billy, is that you? Are you okay?"

"Not...now." His voice was barely a groan, weak and delirious.

"What-"

"Don't...talk," he croaked. She could not even hear breathing, and dropped to the pillow she threw by the grate. She could see nothing, but fear played on her nerves. Something was not right, something had happened; he was hiding, and she knew better than to assume that he was simply not in the mood to talk.

Deep in her dark thoughts, she knew the truth already. But she dared not accept, dared not let pity encroach.

"Do...do they do this often?"

The answer would not satisfy her, no matter how important she felt the question to be. And the air between the cells took on an air of sadness. The melancholic melody of the damned.

He did not answer, nor had she truly expected him to. Something told her that she needed to keep pressing, needed to keep him awake. Whatever beating they had doled out, she doubted that they cared much for injury; succumbing to loss of consciousness was never a good idea.

"Rebecca is fine," she told him. After all, she never did answer his question. "She was promoted not too long ago - she is head of the Pathology department at her hospital now. We are all so proud of her."

The silence was not so haunting this time, and she was sure that she heard him shuffle closer towards the grate.

"Is she...happy?"

Rebecca was far from happy; anyone could see that. While she enjoyed her career, she was merely content with her home life. It was always about work, never about her. Jill wished that she would simply drop her never-ending projects for one night and allow them to take her out, or to set her up with someone nice.

"Sometimes." It was barely even a lie. She was happy when she was amongst friends, as were they all. "She'll be working to find me right now. And when they come...you'll get to see her again."

With every word that she spoke, her safe little world shattered, one miniscule fragment at a time. Because the more she repeated to herself that help was on its way, the less she believed it, and the more frightened she became.

"Jill," Billy groaned, fatigue weighing down his voice. "Don't talk...to me. Not now."

* * *

**_February 23, 2010. 11:14am. Washington, D.C._**

Leon was beginning to think that this was a waste of time. But it was anger rather than irritation that took hold. This was about more than any grudge, about more than them; this was about the abduction of a heavily pregnant woman who just so happened to be his friend. If issues could not be put aside for the sake of another...

'Did you honestly expect this to go as planned?' he asked himself.

After two cups of coffee, he was wide awake, tapping his fingers against the tabletop. There were far better ways he could have been spending his morning off. With leads few and far between, he should be seeking more.

But there was one lead that he _was_ drawn to, one that kept coming back to him no matter how he pushed at it.

The disappearance in Richmond had become somewhat of a cold case; the cops had given up hope of ever finding the murderer. But what about the tracks on the floor? What of the second victim; the one that may still be alive. If it was indeed Tricell that had taken Jill, then he was willing to bet that it was Tricell whom the victim of the Richmond murder had betrayed.

'If only we had the evidence.'

"Another coffee, sir?"

He refused the waitress's offer, patience wearing thin. For the sake of his friend, he would wait until half past, but no longer. It was unfair to leave Claire to handle Chris alone. Whatever had paralysed him the previous day had worn off, and they were all one outburst away from sedating him and handling the search alone. His enthusiasm and focus were unparalleled, but his temper interfered with his solid work ethic. If an assignment was ever personal in his eyes, it was this one. Quite frankly, they were sick of his anger.

Half past eleven came and went, and still he was alone. What remained of his coffee was too cold to be consumed and the sight of the folder before him only forced guilt home.

Because he should have known better.

"Leaving so soon?"

The voice came as he gathered up his possessions, as he gave up on her.

It had been over a year since their last meeting, but he could never forget that voice, could never forget the confidence he sometimes wondered if she faked.

He turned slowly, did not match the smile that she flashed.

"Ada," he growled. "You're late."

**AN - Please review :).**


	17. Allies

**AN - **This chapter is pretty much a filler. The damn block is back and writing this was pretty difficult; I feel like I'm repeating myself, so I apologise if I am. The action picks up with next chapter, so hopefully I'll be left with less room for repetition ^_^.

Again, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter! It really helps with the irritating block ^_^. _Ultimolu, Kenshin13, C. Redfield 86, Skiptrix, Black Metalmark, tek, Ninja-Gnome, xSummonerYunax, x-Artichoke-x_ and _chocolate milkahhh_: you all rock ^^.

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

_**Chapter Sixteen** - __Allies_

_'Geography has made us neighbours. History has made us friends.  
Economics has made us partners, and necessity has made us allies.'  
_~John F. Kennedy~

**_February 23 2010. 11:34am. Washington, D.C._**

Leon's eyes did not follow Ada as she moved around the table and set herself down in the chair opposite, as though she had not shown up over half an hour late.

"I have things to do," she told him. "And the traffic wasn't exactly working in my favour. You should be grateful that I'm here at all."

Slowly, he counted to ten. Ada Wong was perhaps the most untrustworthy person he knew, and yet she was the only one he could trust with the current objective in mind. He was entirely at the mercy of her unpredictable mindset, and quite frankly, it didn't sit right with him.

"It's been a long time," she smiled, a more pleasant tone to her voice this time. It was a softer side to her that he had only witnessed on rare occasions, often accidentally. "Did you get my letter?"

"I did."

Another smile, subdued this time.

"I thought maybe with the lack of reply that-"

"I didn't read it."

She chuckled softly to herself, evidently expecting such an answer. Sometimes, he felt that she knew him better than he knew himself. It was one of the more unsettling aspects of what he had once referred to as a friendship. That they could know one another so well without being truly close scared him more than anything ever had.

"Of course," she sighed. "You ripped it apart as soon as you recognised my handwriting."

"Actually, I burned it."

The wince was little more than a momentary twitch, but he noticed. She was always so composed that even the smallest flicker of emotion seemed like an outburst.

"Ouch," she exhaled, composing herself before resuming eye contact. "So, why did you want to see me?"

Words that had little to do with his absent friend pushed against his defences. But he knew that he would never pull a straight answer from her. Everything was on her terms, and she revealed only what she wanted him to see. So shielded, so..._infuriating_.

'Or is the infuriating detail your inability to stop thinking about her, even now?'

"Jill Valentine has been kidnapped," he told her. It would be better for both if the atmosphere between them remained professional.

"Again?"

Pulling air between his teeth, he told himself that she meant no harm with her words. Interacting civilly with others was never one of her strong points.

"She may be little more than a name to you, but she is my friend," he warned her. "I'll do whatever it takes to get her back. The least _you_ can do is listen."

"I don't doubt your devotion to your friends, Leon." All attempted civility vanished with one bat of her eyelashes. "But Valentine has a lot of enemies. You are a very intelligent man, despite your shortcomings; I fail to see why you need my help on this one."

Because it was no secret that calling her was always a last resort. What he found, she often ended up stealing from him in turn. And sometimes, he simply did not have the energy to constantly remain on the necessary level of alert around her.

'Of course, there's the fact that talking to her fills you with a crippling sense of guilt.'

"Jill was taken from her bed in the middle of the night," he explained. "She was taken by six heavily armed, well-equipped men, and despite being close to exhausting every source I have, I can't pick up even the faintest scent of a trail. Whoever they are, they know everything we could possibly do to trace them."

Ada appeared thoughtful for a moment or two, and then nodded slowly.

"There isn't much I can do at the moment," she told him. "Believe it or not, my work - _our_ work - is not quite as morally questionable as you seem to think it is. Certainly, it does more good than it used to. We're working on a major takedown that is eating up most of our resources so-"

He slid the manila folder across the table, speaking not a single world. With raised eyebrows and curiosity radiating from her expression, she opened it, and exhaled sharply at the sight of the contents.

"What is this?"

It was obvious then that he had struck a nerve.

"That is Jill's child," he informed her. "She is due in less than four weeks. If we don't find her by then..."

There was no need to elaborate. Every line of confidence had faded from her features. Because she may have been cold to many, but she would never tolerate an act of anything less than kindness towards a child. It was her one weakness, and he was desperate enough to exploit it.

"It's the antibodies," she muttered. "With the vaccine not yet on the market, do you have any idea how much a child like this would be worth to...unethical researchers?"

Fear blossomed within when he recognised the tone of her voice as that of sympathetic pain. Because she never showed emotion, always counted it as a weakness that she could do without.

"I can't promise anything. But...I'll make some calls."

"Thank you." Whispered words of appreciation.

Was this what it took for her to open up? It was a side of her he had always known had existed; a side of her that always drew him back, hoping that it would not remain hidden.

And suddenly, he regretted burning the letter. It was the first moment in which curiosity had struck since the act; he had never cared before, never held any interest. But now he wanted to know.

It was a shame that he was too proud to ask.

"How far along did you say Jill was?"

"About thirty-five or thirty-six weeks."

Her expression displayed confusion, and then softened moments before she folded the ultrasound picture back inside the folder and slid it across to him.

"Are you aware that the child in that picture is not the one she is carrying?"

In mirrored confusion, he opened the folder.

"I don't dispute that the child is hers," Ada elaborated, somehow knowing the conclusion that he had jumped to. "But look at the date; that child should have been born already. It just...doesn't correlate."

Leon checked the date, found the words that indicated how old the foetus was. The child would be overdue, past the date the midwife would call the mother in to induce labour.

But the date did not lie, and the image sure as hell did not.

'Oh God.'

The realisation showered down upon him like acid rain. A miscarriage, on top of everything else that she had suffered through. And suddenly, everything made sense. Progress shattered, hallucinations materialising in the midst of apparent success. The deterioration of her condition had not been natural. It was trauma that had shattered her world.

"I...never knew."

* * *

**_February 23 2010. 12:40pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

His mind felt heavy, loaded down. But he had to get away, if only for a moment. Chris told himself that he deserved a short rest, but his consciousness nagged at him all the way to the master bedroom, deposited venomous guilt where it would do the most damage.

'What are you doing?' it demanded. 'You can't afford to rest, you need to keep working.'

But if he pushed on, he feared that he just may crumble, and then what use would he be?

The nursery had suddenly become off-limits. It did not seem real to him anymore, and the closer he strayed to that door, the farther into despair he slipped. He did not want it to be like this.

A sharp knock sounded against the door, but Leon stepped inside before a response was uttered. Chris dared not send him away, not after everything he had done. It should have been him at the head of the investigation, ploughing through what little they had. But it was Leon who had taken the helm, who had taken on so much that there was barely anything left for the rest of them.

"I'm on my way to work," the younger man announced. "Hunnigan pulled some more files for me; hopefully we'll find something there. I also have...a friend working on this. If anyone can find Jill, she's the one."

"Thank you." It was all that he could offer. Any less would be ungrateful, any more would reveal weakness. "I spoke to Davis and Gale at the BSAA; they're digging around, but...nothing. I would have thought that there would at least be word about this somewhere. Even if it _is_ Tricell."

"Silence is the only advantage they have these days. When the vaccine hits the market, bioterrorism will be a thing of the past. They're panicking...and that means that they will slip up. It's just a case of waiting for that moment and catching it when it happens."

Arrogance was a common flaw where evil dwelled. But when time was not on their side, how were they meant to exploit such a weakness? If it was Jill alone, he knew that she would remain strong, would fight and perhaps even escape without their assistance. But what of their daughter?

"I wanted to return this," Leon mumbled.

He saw the card before he recognised the significance. Neither he nor Jill had set eyes on it in many months; while it was a part of their past that they never wished to forget, it was also a part that they desperately needed to put behind them.

"Why would you take this?" His voice remained calm, but in its own way became terrifying.

He snatched the picture from his friend's hands, wanting it nowhere near eyes that simply would not understand.

It was clear from the sorrow in Leon's eyes that he understood, that he knew of the tragedy that had almost torn them apart. Somehow, it only made the taste that much more bitter. It was a private emotion, and Leon had stolen it, had invaded a memory that was as precious as it was agonising.

"I'm sorry, Chris, I- I didn't know."

"Either way, you evidently thought it was acceptable to steal a photograph of someone's child!" he shot back. "Are you _deliberately_ trying to make this harder for me?"

Pain turned into hatred, and suddenly he could not look at the man without feeling control slowly slip away.

"Get out of here," he demanded. "Now!"

The silence left in the wake of a fight was always the most harrowing. The guilt, the regret...the wish for anger to be a thing of the past.

Drowning in heartache, Chris clung to the hurt as he opened the card.

'Maybe you're just not meant to be a father.'

If that was true, then why did _she_ have to suffer for it?

"Are you okay?" Claire asked, quietly closing the door behind her. "I heard shouting."

She had been so good to him over the last twenty-four hours, going so far as to take up residence in the guest room simply to keep him company. While he played the part of strong soldier, the truth was that he honestly did not know what he would have done without his little sister.

Finding the mattress at his side, she wrapped her arms around his left bicep as she sat, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

"Wow," she hummed. "I don't think I've seen her that small before."

The others knew. Jill had opened up to Rebecca and Barry, Leon had stumbled across the truth; even Connolly had happened across Jill at the hospital and put two and two together. Admitting it to his sister was an act he had hoped never to perform, but he felt that he needed to get it out, and knew that it was unfair to hold back. After all, the child would have been her niece or nephew, and she would have loved them as much as she already loved her unborn niece.

"That's not our daughter," he told her. He could not muster up the strength to give his voice any quality but that of soft. "Or…it might be. We never found out."

The silence was more potent, more devastating than that which Leon had left behind. Claire's grip relaxed, her head moved back.

He did not clarify his words; he waited for them to sink in, for her to understand his point.

"Chris," she whimpered. He did not need to see her to know that she was crying. "Don't tell me- No..."

"We found out that she was pregnant the day we moved," he elaborated. "But...we lost the baby before we could tell anyone."

Arms found his neck, held him the way he had held her in the wake of their parents' death. And he held her back, if only to hide tears of his own. These were old tears, decaying and toxic. It was not the lover and the child that had been stolen from him that he wept for, but the child he had lost.

To lose both parents and a child when one was still so young brought forth a feeling of loneliness and isolation that was nigh on crippling.

Claire pulled back prematurely, her eyes bloodshot and moist. Even her cheeks were red.

"Please don't cry," she begged him, smiling through her sadness. "I've only seen you cry once in your life and it scared the hell out of me then. I'm supposed to be the one who cries, and you're the one who tells me it's all going to be okay!"

It always pained him to see her cry, but this time he did nothing. The therapeutic value of tears was known to him, only too well.

"I don't know if it's ever going to be okay," he admitted. "Not this time."

She was always the optimistic one, but apparently could find nothing to say, no hope to grasp onto.

"It's only been a day," she reminded him after a long pause. It was obvious that she did not believe in her words. "I've been praying for her; for both of you."

"You pray?"

Averting her gaze awkwardly, her lips twitched, an arm still around his neck as she answered.

"Sometimes."

There were many things that had lost meaning in the years they had fought. Their parents would often take them to church as children, and they would pray every night without the need to be told. But as the years went by, what had once given him strength and comfort only made heartache all the more agonising. Because faith was a lie.

"I guess everything loses its taste over time," Claire muttered. "There is very little to have faith in anymore."

Nodding in agreement, he raised a hand to dry his eyes. How to have faith against the odds?

The T-virus had altered perception, the prevalence of evil lending both saints and sinners the same fate. What was dead did not stay that way for long; hell in its own right.

He had seen enough horror in his life to know that hell was right here on Earth. And sometimes, when he lay awake at night, holding Jill, he thought that heaven just might be too.

"I'm scared, Claire," he admitted, voice breaking terribly. "I'm terrified that I'm not going to see her again. What am I supposed to do without her?"

She looked as lost as he felt, and guilt hit him hard in the gut. He needed to keep face in front of her, needed to fake strength when he felt none. With her heart breaking before his eyes, he swallowed his fear. She did not need to know that he saw nothing without Jill, that he would give his own life if it would save their daughter. No, she simply did not need to know.

"Come on," he coughed, with a hand pressing into her back, urging her to her feet as he too rose. "We've wasted enough time."

Leads were quickly running dry, but where they were, hope was not far behind. He would not give up until he had found both Jill and the baby, and nothing short of sudden death could stop him.

* * *

**_February 23 2010. 1:15pm. Location unknown._**

They came for her shortly after lunch. A man and a woman, both in lab coats, both emotionless as they stepped into her cell.

"Come with us," the man ordered.

She moved only to shield her bump. Surely they could not have expected any more.

"If you think I am going to be soundly compliant, you obviously don't know me at all," she sneered.

They held no guns, only the keys to her cell and, she assumed, the others that stretched down the hallway. Somehow, she knew that it was no walk that they wanted to take her on this time.

"We will sedate you if we have to," the woman warned. "Think about your child."

It was consideration for her child that wanted to keep her far away from wherever they were to take her.

"We have explicit orders not to harm you or your child," the man sighed. "We would lose more than our jobs if we disobeyed. We need you for a simple check-up; the kind your midwife would conduct."

Suddenly, her heart told her to follow them. She was worried for her unborn, and a check-up would help ease her mind, if only for now. And she had sworn that she would do nothing to anger them. While they may have appeared determined to allow her pregnancy to progress naturally, she assumed that should patience with her wear thin, they would have no qualms performing a premature C-section. If it came to that, she was sure that they would not even sedate her, that they would leave her to bleed out on the operating table. If she was dead, there was nothing she could do for her daughter.

"I have a condition," she told them. Sighs accompanied rolled eyes, but she was urged to continue, evidently holding enough sway to persuade them to humour her. "The man in the cell next door...I want him to come with me. It would...make me feel more at ease."

It was a bare faced lie, but she did not think that it would matter to them. If something happened, if they tried anything out of the ordinary, at least she would have backup with Billy there. She was strong and a hell of a fighter, but in her current state there was not much that she could do.

The male sighed again and nodded reluctantly. Whatever their orders were, they were working in her favour.

So she moved, slowly. Walking was now impossible, and waddling did not have a wide variety of speeds. When she walked with Chris, he would often walk too fast, until consideration trumped everything and he would walk with a hand on her back, guiding her as he slowed to her pace. It was strange how something as simple as walking caused her to miss him terribly.

Billy was not quite what she had expected. With musculature to rival Chris's, he exuded an air of raw strength even with the limp that slowed his walk. Brown blood stained the leg of his jeans, and she assumed that the crimson patch that had dried down the side of his sneaker was a result of the same wound. A thin layer of stubble barely disguised bruising on his jaw, long brown hair clean but unkempt. But there was something about his eyes; something that told her that her trust in him had not been misplaced.

He smiled weakly, evidently unnerved by her girth; she was fit to burst and looked the part. When he moved, he stumbled, the wall simply not enough to steady him. So she reached for his hand, drew his arm around her shoulders as they were ushered forth. Hesitance pulled his hand back but she would not relinquish her grip; she could handle the extra weight, whatever her state may have been.

The room they lead her to was only a short walk away. It was a sterile room, lightly furnished; clinical.

"Lie down," the male captor instructed, signalling to a clean cot and the machine that stood next to it.

She moved, but the wrist that had simply rested on her shoulder until now moved, and a large hand gripped her tightly, silently urging her to remain as she was.

"You expect a lot of trust from your hostages," Billy sneered. "How about you explain what you are going to do first?"

A smile broke upon her lips, though she had not asked him to leap to her defence. The man - who she assumed to be a doctor at this point - stared long and hard at him, before turning to Jill.

"We are going to perform an ultrasound," he sighed, speaking directly to her. "And then we are going to take a sample of your blood."

She could see that the orders which bound him pushed him to the farthest reaches of irritation. As long as she remained pregnant, they would be civil to her, would treat her as a patient and not a prisoner.

The guards at the door chuckled, and suddenly she thought it best not to try their patience. With no help from the doctor, she heaved herself up onto the cot, lay back when ordered to do so.

It was the heartbeat that struck her first, the image blurred as unwanted tears rushed to her eyes. The baby was big, and perfectly formed. But gazing upon her did not feel right without Chris at her side. She wanted to gouge the doctor's eyes out simply for looking at her.

"Female," he called to his colleague, who began to jot notes onto a pad produced from her pocket. "Everything seems to be as expected; good placental blood flow, no immediate signs of abnormality. Heartbeat is strong."

There was no mention of the mother, of how she fared in such a late stage of pregnancy. But of course; the child she carried aside, they held no interest in her.

"What do you want from her?" It was Billy who asked the question that had brought nightmares to her sleep. "Why _this_ child?"

The doctor was a man of science, and the weakness was universal; every professional loved to brag about their work. Even Rebecca would proudly announce her latest project when they could not be less interested if they told her so. It was an arrogance that provided answers to questioning minds.

"Because Miss Valentine has special antibodies," the doctor answered, speaking as though he were addressing a child. And then he turned to her, offered a false smile of pity. "As they occur naturally in your system, and because of the nature of the antibodies, there is an overwhelmingly good chance that the baby will be born with your currently unique immunity. A newborn with resistance to the Stairway to the Sun toxin; the potential is truly mind-boggling."

Already, she sensed where his theory led and subconsciously reached for Billy's hand, surprised when it gripped hers back.

"The Wesker project was flawed from inception," the doctor chuckled. "The virus was weak and unstable, but with the aid of Uroboros...the possibility of creating a new, stable strain is no longer a mere pipe dream. Your child will be the first born with naturally-occurring antibodies, and therefore will provide resistance to anything delivered to its system. With parents such as yourself and Mr. Redfield - who Albert Wesker himself theorised would be amongst the 'chosen' - it was simply too good an opportunity to pass up. We'd have to give the project a new name, of course, but the aim would be somewhat similar."

Jill's blood ran cold. She had prepared herself for the possibility that her daughter would face a similar fate to Lisa Trevor, even that she would be raised amongst the enemy. But to know that she would be shaped into the monster that had tormented her family for over a decade...there was no horror greater.

"You won't get your hands on her," she growled, anger spoiled by tears. "I'll kill you all-"

"Yes, yes," the doctor sighed impatiently as he brought a syringe to her arm. "I'm sure you will. Now try not to flinch."

The point pricked her skin and she hissed in discomfort, wondering how far they would get were she to rip the needle from his hand and jab it into his eye.

'On Billy's bad leg? Not far.'

Because she could no longer consider freedom if he were not running beside her. She would not leave him here.

"All done. Now, I believe Mr. Coen has an appointment."

The guards stepped forward, and Billy flinched beside her. Fear radiated from every inch of him, his expression stoic but his eyes betraying what he truly felt.

"No!" She did not know what she would do, knew only that she had to stop this. She knew what would happen were he to leave, but could not guess what state he would be in when he returned. _If_ he returned.

But somehow, she did not think that they would honour a compassionate plea.

"Stress has already put me in hospital during this pregnancy," she warned them. "Talking to Billy is all that is keeping me sane in this damn place. Leave him be."

The plastic pen shattered in the doctor's grip, but he nodded with an expression of pure contempt on his aging features.

"Just be warned, Miss Valentine," he growled, nodding to the guards. "You won't always have that brat inside of you."

They were ordered to stay as he stormed out, locking the door as he left them alone. And though she lifted herself to a seated position, legs dangling off the edge of the cot, that was the extent of her strength. The tears that meandered down her cheeks were evidence enough.

"Don't listen to him," Billy pleaded. "We'll be out of here soon. Your friends will-"

"But what if they are too late?" she wept, ashamed at the loss of face. "I'm going to die, Billy, and she...she's going to be stuck with them and-"

"They are _not_ going to take her!" he insisted, suddenly gripping her arms. "That isn't hope, it's a _fact_."

Whatever he intended with his words, she could not feel it. All she saw when she looked at him was a wounded man; his proximity only emphasised the many wounds that he bore, and his blood-soaked clothing did not inspire hope within her.

"You don't smell so good." She cracked a smile in an effort to chase away her fear. But the danger she was in was all too real.

"For what it's worth, there was nothing you could have done to stop them," Billy told her, his grip loosening. "I overheard...snippets, though I didn't know it was you they were talking about at the time. They were planning to kidnap you for months. They mentioned emotional trouble you were having, and how they could exploit that. I think they wanted your friends to believe that you had left of your own accord."

It was what she had expected, but the confirmation was still upsetting.

"If that had happened, Chris would still be looking for me," she told him.

"The father?"

She nodded, catching his hands in hers as he lowered his arms.

"My fiancé," she confirmed. "He would have known that I would not run away, and...he wouldn't have just let me run off with his baby. No matter what I feel, I will always love him and he knows that."

At least, she hoped that he did. And she hoped that she could tell him so, just one more time.

Billy looked to the door and frowned, then pulled away from her to explore the surrounding area.

"Thank you," he told her, back turned as he approached a counter littered with files. "You didn't have to do that back there."

It took her a moment to understand what it was he was referring to, and when she did she assured him that it was nothing. Because it was; how could she have stood by and done nothing when she was in a position to do _something_. Perhaps she would pay for it later, but she honestly did not intend to stick around that long.

"Hey Billy," she called meekly, doubt distorting hope. "I...I need to you make me a promise. If something happens to me...if I go into labour... I want you to promise me that you will get her out of here."

It was not giving up, she told herself; it was simply being prepared. Twenty-four hours seemed like a hell of a lot longer, and the more time she spent alone with her thoughts, the more she knew that she needed some form of contingency plan.

Now she could see that plan was Billy.

"You really think it's going to come to that?"

He laughed as though the idea was absurd, but to her it was a very real possibility. And he must have seen this when he turned, because he sighed again and limped back over to where she sat.

"If it comes to that," he told her. "I promise that I will get your daughter out of here. I'll find Rebecca and this Chris guy and we'll raise hell."

His promise somehow alleviated her worry. While she would be dead - or worse - under such circumstances, at least the child would be okay. It was an unusual mindset to find herself in, but she accepted it as part of motherhood; the realisation that there was a life more important than your own.

After all, it _was_ love.

* * *

**_February 23 2010. 2:00pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Rebecca chewed on her bottom lip as she searched for her car keys. She should have known that coming in to work was useless. With Jill gone, she could think about nothing but where she could be and how she was faring. Her lunch hour had been spent primarily on search engines, looking up every word that came to mind.

"Miss Chambers?" She turned to witness the suit-clad gentleman at the door to her office, which she had, perhaps unwisely, propped open. "Uh...Rebecca Chambers?"

She nodded abruptly and he sighed a deep breath of relief.

"My name is Henry Larson," he introduced himself, holding out a hand for her to shake. "I am an attorney at-."

"Am I in...some sort of trouble?"

Teeth drew blood now, clamping down upon her lip so hard that she almost cried out. She could not deal with a lawsuit on top of everything else that weighed down upon her, and they were only too common in a hospital environment.

"No, no, no," he assured her. And then he lifted his briefcase onto her desk, opened it before her eyes. "I have something for you, actually. An old acquaintance of mine left it in my possession, said I was to give it to you if two months passed without contact. You must forgive me, my dear; it has been almost double that now, but it completely slipped my mind."

Curiosity prevented her from voicing her confusion. And it prevailed as Mr. Larson pulled a padded envelope from his briefcase and handed it to her, hand shaking terribly.

"This is completely off the record, of course," he urged her. "Ordinarily, I would not do such a thing but I owe this gentleman more than what this is worth; I owe him more than my life."

"Does this...gentleman have a name?" She turned the envelope over and over in her hands, but could find no markings of any kind; no addressee, no sender.

"He, uh...he said that everything you need to know is in that envelope. Trust me, my dear; it will contain nothing bad. He's a good fellow."

He left before she could voice her concern, and her thoughts did not linger on the messenger much longer. With haste, she kicked closed the door and returned to her desk, tearing into the letter with the least care she had ever shown in her life.

A USB drive fell out onto the mouse mat. A single, blue USB drive.

With even less care, she pulled off the cap and jammed it into her computer, thankful that she had not yet shut it down.

**Please enter password.**

Rebecca froze. A password? Her attention turned back to the envelope, frantic hands tearing at the paper, ripping it to shreds. There was nothing written inside, and even the heat of the radiator and light of the UV key ring she had stashed in her draw revealed nothing. No cryptic messages, not even a name.

'Sometimes, it's the simplest word.'

Typing 'password', she was greeted with nothing but a warning chime and error message. She tried variations of the word, doubling up in the event that it was case sensitive. And then she tried similar words, combinations of numbers, and then simply smashed her fist against the keyboard as ideas ran thin.

Nothing.

"What was the fucking point of giving me this damn thing if I'm locked out?" she fumed.

'Forget about it,' her conscience urged. 'The data stick can wait, Jill and your Goddaughter can't!'

But the device nagged at her, begged her to continue. Had her priorities not been straight, she may have remained there all day, hammering away random combinations of letters and numbers. But she had sworn to help her friend, and knew that time was slowly running out.

Whatever it was, it would simply have to wait.

* * *

**_February 23 2010. 5:00pm. Location unknown._**

The wound was healing, slowly but surely. Billy could not even remember what the cause of the incision on his shin had been, but something told him that it had been accidental.

'It's going to be a while until you can move on it,' he realised, heart sinking. The last thing that he wanted to do was try too hard and end up making it worse.

When dinner - the usual slop - had been delivered and footsteps died down the hallway, he reached beneath the mattress, fumbled about in the crude hole he had formed and removed the small bottle of alcohol he had stolen from the lab.

There had been no security cameras in the small room, and it had been only too easy to steal a few items he believed could come in useful.

Though he did not know what to look for, he deduced that the wound remained free of infection so far, for which he was eternally grateful. Even so, he knew that he needed to clean it, that there was no way in hell he would get out of there should the necessity to amputate the limb arise.

Biting down on the flimsy pillow did nothing to muffle the cry that was forced from him as the alcohol washed over the wound.

"Billy?" Jill called, voice muffled against the meal she had quite possibly almost choked on.

"Fuck," he growled, eyes watering as he allowed himself to adjust to the pain. "I'm fine. Just...cleaning this damn wound."

He disliked talking to her when he was in a state of pain. Sadly, that seemed to be a common state these days.

"Hey Billy," she called again. "Can you pry off the grate on your side?"

Setting the alcohol aside, he shimmied across the floor. His cell was in a state of disrepair, and the grate was in keeping with such a style. Most of the screws had rusted away and it did not take much effort to pry it from the plaster.

"Okay, now kick out the one at my end," she requested. "Just...use your good leg."

It took a few strong blows, but eventually it too gave way, and he found himself thinking that it was a damn shame that the hole was too small for him to crawl through. From what she had described of the neighbouring cell, there was a window on the other side. It was not much, and the hope was bleak, but it was hope nonetheless.

He had barely pulled his foot back into his own cell when a hand appeared, stretched as far as was physically possible.

"Take it," she urged. There was a package in her hand, made crudely out of what he assumed to be toilet paper. Inside, he saw that she had wrapped a small assortment of vegetables and meat he assumed to be chicken.

The aroma alone made his mouth water; it was the most appetising sight he had witnessed in many months. Ashamedly, he turned to his own meal, to the sustenance that provided all he needed to survive but little more.

"Eat," Jill urged. "They can't be feeding you well, and they seem to be over-feeding me."

He wanted to protest, to pass the food back through, but several slices of carrot were in his mouth before he could object. Taste buds that had all but shrivelled and died burst into life, and he inhaled the rest, closing his eyes to savour the taste. It was something so simple, but felt like a luxury then.

"Thank you," he gasped, washing it down with the water they had left him.

"The sentiment wasn't entirely selfless," she admitted sheepishly. "You're going to need your strength."

She could not see his smile, but it twisted his lips anyway.

There were times, fleeting moments, when he wondered if she was merely a figment of his imagination; an angel come to guide him through his final days. Never before had he witnessed one with such optimism in such dire circumstances.

But he had seen it, there in her eyes as they waited in the lab; this was nothing new to her. She may have smiled, may have given him hope when he thought it had abandoned him completely, but the strength that he saw within was the kind of strength that built over time and through torment. Of course, this was a war and soldiers were not without their scars.

"Who are they?" she wanted to know.

Telling her would do no harm.

"Tricell. At least, that's who I had evidence against."

An irritated sigh passed through the open vent.

"It was Tricell who kidnapped me the last time," she admitted

"You don't sound too frightened."

Jill laughed humourlessly, and the rattle of cutlery on china could be heard.

"Well, I was held at a Tricell facility," she explained. "And primarily, I was under the...guardianship of Excella Gionne. But...the man who captured me was...something else entirely. Compared to them, Tricell are just another power-hungry corporation. I have an awful amount of luck; one way or another, I'm probably going to make it out of here."

He sensed that she spoke the truth, but something nagged at him.

"Then why are you still afraid?"

She pondered the answer in silence, and he waited, not uttering a word. Perhaps she had hoped that her fear did not show?

"For her," she answered at last. "And...I'm afraid of what I will do to them if they harm her."

From the simple tone of her voice, he felt all that she dared not say. There was a lot of darkness in her heart, and while he did not doubt that she was kind and just, he sensed something terrible when she spoke of her daughter's suspected fate. Whatever doubts he may have had concerning escape, he knew that he need not have worried. Because his neighbour was a woman who would fight to the death for what she believed in, and nothing came closer to the heart than a loved one.

'You will both get out of here...and you will see Rebecca again.'

Somehow, that promise meant more to him than the prospect of freedom.

**AN - Please review :)**


	18. Alone I Break

**AN - **I've been tweaking the plan for this a little. Nothing major, but I've had a few ideas, some scenes have been added, one or two altered or removed. The important stuff remains untouched for the most part. Anyway, I think I'm a little early on the update with this one ^_^. I'm having fun with the Chris and Claire scenes but sadly I had to cut out a lot of what I was going to write in this chapter because it just seemed redundant. Rebecca's role also got downsized, but I promise that next chapter will make up for that ^_^.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed - _Kenshin13, Ultimolu, Ryoko Metallium, Chocolate milkahh, C. Redfield 86, Skiptrix, ebonyXivory777, EntityDancer, x-Artichoke-x, Black Metalmark, tek, xSummonerYunax, _and _Ninja-Gnome_. I hope you all know by now how much your support means to me! I'm still overwhelmed by how much this story is getting, especially with it feeling so tedious at times. Thank you!  
I'm still dealing with a little block, and I'm surprisingly busy at the moment but I've been working on a Valentine's oneshot that I am trying to get finished by Monday. I didn't want to do another Chris/Jill this year but it does involve them. However, I hope it's something a little different from the usual Valentine's oneshots ^_^. Keep an eye out for it!

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Seventeen - _**_Alone I Break_

_'Suppressed grief suffocates, it rages within the breast, and is forced to multiply its strength.'  
_~Ovid~

**_March 11, 2010. 10:00am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Two weeks. Two weeks and not a damn word.

He saw little point in contacting her; it would have a greater effect on his blood pressure than it would on the search to find Jill.

On the surface, Leon remained calm, but inside he was sure that his organs had turned to mush. Not a decent night's sleep had found its way to him since Jill's disappearance. From what Claire had told him, he was faring only a little better than Chris.

It seemed as though she had vanished off the face of the Earth, and they were all taking it hard.

"I don't know how the hell he is still on his feet," he muttered to Claire, nodding to her brother, asleep on the sofa. He had barely stumbled downstairs to answer the door before he passed out once again. "He's at this all day; I'm cramming so much into a few hours and _I_ feel like shit."

"I'm told him to lay off it," she sighed. "But he won't rest, not even for an hour. I had to trick him into taking some sleeping pills just so he would sleep through the night."

A dirty tactic, but one they all would have agreed was necessary.

Rebecca and Connolly had pulled records from obstetric departments across the state in the hope that she had found her way there, but again, no such luck. Alejandra had called in favours with friends in the medical field, Gabriella had gained the assistance of her friend to hack into the GPC's records; even Barry had closed his shop and called every friend he had ever made for help.

The chime of the doorbell woke Chris from his slumber, but Leon was first to the door. As though it were a call to arms, the others rushed in from the kitchen.

Ada did not wait for a welcome before she pushed past him. Indeed, he had been unsure that it was her at first glance. But the smart red dress that she wore and the head-first dive straight into business were more recognisable than her face.

"If I had contacted you before now, I would have been wasting my time," she explained, knowing where his thoughts must lie. "And it would have been at least a few more days before I could bring you this."

He had not noticed the folder in her hand, only the urgency in her eyes.

"You suspected Tricell; you were right," she continued, not even pausing for breath. Even Gabriella's quiet 'I told you so' to her mother did not distract her. "Obstetrics is one area that Tricell have little to no interest in. Yet over the last few months they have put in small orders for basic equipment - everything from ultrasound machines to diapers. They ordered in bulk but the quantities are significantly low."

Leon's eyes were not the only pair on her, yet he dared not tear them away. She did not relinquish the folder that she waved before him, but he also did not make a grab for it.

"And who the hell are you?" The quality of Chris's voice matched his appearance; rough, almost offensive.

Ada did not introduce herself, smiled as she waited for Leon to do the honours.

"This is Ada Wong."

He felt Claire move from his side, heard her sharp inhalation. And when he turned to her, she did not face him. Perhaps she _could_ not.

"Ada Wong," she laughed quietly. When she turned, her eyes were filled with a venom he had not seen since the fall of Umbrella. "We're supposed to trust her?"

Chris rose, evidently choosing to trust his sister's opinion of the woman. After all, family came first. So it was Chris that he addressed, Chris that he offered explanation to.

"Ada is the one who provided me with the information that led you to Kijuju. If it weren't for her, Jill would not be here...none of us would."

Breathing a sigh of indignation, Claire vacated the lounge, seated herself at the bottom of the stairs; close enough to hear, but far enough away that she did not have to look at them.

"Chris Redfield," Ada smiled, snapping him from momentary distraction as she pointed a finger in his friend's direction. "Claire Redfield, Rebecca Chambers, Matthew Connolly, Matthew Stockard, Alejandra Stockard, Gabriella Romero, Barry Burton, Kathy Burton. No need for introductions, so let's get down to business.

Kathy tilted her head to the side, showing both amusement and shock at the same time as she showed that her trust had been earned...for now.

They all gathered in the lounge area, though all calls to Claire fell upon deaf ears. But the focus was not on her, was not even on the new arrival. Whatever resided in that folder promised hope that had been slipping through their fingers for far too long.

"Tricell have taken to kidnapping people, just like Umbrella once did," Ada revealed. "Mostly the homeless, prostitutes, drug addicts; people with little or no connection to the world. Where there are no friends or family, there is nobody to miss them. We have been trying to track them through the disappearances but, needless to say, it has been proving quite difficult."

"So you have no idea where she is?" Rebecca interrupted. She nodded solemnly, but somehow the fact did not deter her.

"They have been interested in Wesker's research. All samples of Uroboros were destroyed along with all of his notes and data, so they have no choice but to essentially start from scratch. It's no surprise that they sought out Jill. In fact, my research has shown that they have been keeping tabs on her ever since her return from Africa. Their interest dwindled when the P30 vanished from her system, but it seems that they have been following her since her first appointment at the hospital."

Leon noticed Rebecca shift in her seat, leaning close to her and nodding in understanding.

"Then Tricell have connections at St. Mary's," she realised.

"Precisely," Ada smiled, evidently proud in her discovery. "Now, St. Mary Hope sources from different corporations - a lot of hospitals turned their backs on Tricell after the mess with Gionne. It wasn't easy, but with the help of the data that Miss Romero gathered, we were able to trace a series of transfers from Tricell's account to one belonging to a member of staff at St. Mary's. Rebecca, Matthew; are you familiar with Lloyd Parish?"

Though Leon tried desperately to focus on her voice, on what she was saying, his attention was continuously drawn to Claire. He could not see her face for the balustrade, only the feet that dangled off the edge of the bottom step.

"He's an orderly," Rebecca gasped. "Oh my God... I caught him in my office about a month before she disappeared. He...he was using my computer. A lot of Jill's data is stored on there; I needed it for the report on the vaccine! Oh God..."

Sleep seemingly a distant memory, Chris gripped her shoulder in reassurance.

"It's not your fault," he sighed. "If they were planning this then they obviously knew I was meant to be in Manhattan that night...we talked about it in public; anyone could have overheard."

But Rebecca always took fault to heart. The 'what if's that plagued her would not disappear with the mere assurance that speaking up would not have helped.

"We have to find this Lloyd guy," Chris resolved. "We'll make him talk, find out where they took her."

"Already on it," Ada smirked. "I have a friend at St. Mary's who is taking care of it as we speak. He's taking our guy to a disused warehouse a few miles outside of DC. If we leave now, he should be there when we arrive."

Leon wondered if he was the only one disturbed by the location. Disused...in the middle of nowhere. But before he could voice his troubles, the others had begun to move. Chris did not even bother to change out of his sweatpants and T-shirt, simply pulled a jacket off the hook next to the door and slipped into it.

It was a somewhat ominous move, with the sway of Jill's maroon jacket in the wake. Chris seemed not to notice, or hid it well. But Leon could see that he still wore Jill's ring on a chain around his neck. It would have been safer in a locked drawer, but he would have none of that.

He waited for Claire, after the others had left. Caught in a daze, she paused at the foot of the stairs, arms folded across her chest. She did not look him in the eye; barely acknowledged his presence when she finally moved.

"Let's go," she told him.

He longed to hold her, but knew that she would only cast his arms away. So he let her go and as he followed, he found that guilt took the strength from his legs.

* * *

**_March 11, 2010. 11:00am. Location unknown._**

_"Damn...jeans," she gasped. No matter how hard she tugged at the waistband, they simply would not close. There seemed to be a good inch between the button and its hole._

_They were her favourite pair, worn in almost to the extent that Chris's were, and they were always a good fit._

_"Jill," he sighed, failing to hide a tone of amusement. "What the hell are you doing?"_

_"I'm trying...to get...dressed," she grunted. "What the hell is wrong with these things? Three weeks between wearing them and now they don't fit!"_

_Exasperated, she flung her arms to her side, sacrificing victory for the sake of her sanity. They would have to go. The simple thought brought tears to her eyes. They had been a gift from Sheva, bestowed when she had little more than unflattering BSAA fatigues to wear._

_"Baby," Chris chuckled. He moved close to her, gripped the fabric she had previously struggled with but made no attempt to help. His fingers brushed the skin of her abdomen, perhaps unintentionally, and they traced flesh that was once toned, once flat. "You're pregnant. You're starting to show now, that's why you can't fit into these. That's why they make maternity clothes."_

_"Oh."_

_Truthfully, there were days where she would wake and forget all about the life that grew inside of her. She did not know if it was the two wonderful weeks in Hawaii with Chris or the sheer wonder and surprise at the pregnancy, but something made her forget._

_"If I wake one day with a baby in my arms, you'll remind me that they're mine, right?" she smiled._

_"C'mon," he laughed. "We're gonna miss the movie."_

_Rolling her eyes, she retreated back into the closet. She did not care about the movie - 'Zombieland' seemed an inappropriate choice to her - or their reasoning for another 'date', but now that things were finally back to normal, she cherished the friendly moments that they spent together._

_"We need to shop while we're out," she shouted, struggling with the zip on her dress. "Why is everything I own tight around the waist?"_

_His arms caught her off-guard, sliding around her waist. She yelped as she jumped, swearing vehemently at him as he chuckled._

_"Because you have the body for it," he purred. And then his hands slipped lower, his stance became less suggestive. "You make me so happy."_

_It was an unexpected sentiment, and she didn't quite know what to say. Chris had always been a man of actions rather than words. Though a softer side of him had presented following their reunion, a more emotional side, she had believed it to be hidden once again. After all, he had returned to his more usual self once her treatment was over._

_"Where did that come from?" she wanted to know._

_She felt him shrug before he pressed a kiss to her hair and then moved away._

_"I just...want you to know."_

_But when she turned, his eyes dropped to the noticeable swell of her abdomen and his smile grew wider, blue eyes lit up. He had not spoken much of the child, perhaps out of fear, but in that moment all that had so far remained unspoken was evident. She could not recall the last time she had seen him so genuinely happy, as though he may burst with pride._

_"It's okay to admit that you're excited," she told him, a smile of her own breaking through._

_"It's not the baby," he laughed. "It's that...it's yours. I know they're mine too, but... It's you I'm doing this with. I...can't describe how happy that makes me."_

_She felt tears sneaking up on her, and raised her hands as she blinked them back._

_"Stop it," she warned. "You're going to make me cry, and this is the first time in months that I've worn makeup during the day."_

_Sarcasm dripped from his expression as he rolled his eyes._

_"Because God forbid your mascara runs."_

_With an amicable slap on the chest, she folded into him for a quick embrace, pressed her lips tenderly to his._

_"Just so you know," she told him. "I feel the same way. I love you."_

Jill woke silently, unmoving. Not that she was capable of moving much; with the size of her bump, she rolled with all the smooth mobility of a square wheel.

She woke also with tears, unashamed when she realised just how late she had slept in. The baby moved, as she always did when her mother woke, and then settled as a warm hand automatically moved down.

'Chris...'

The more time passed, the more she missed him. What state would he be in? Becoming a father meant so much to him, and that promise remained with her, far away from where he was.

Tears soaked through the pillow. For the first time since she was stolen from his side, she cried.

'I have to get out of here. I can't take this anymore!'

She cried for the lover she longed for, for the nightmares of less hospitable captivity that had rushed back to haunt her. It took all of her strength to keep them at bay, and she was terrified that the stress would cause premature labour.

Her friends should have found her by now. Where were they?

And then nightmares haunted a waking moment, and a more terrifying question sprang to mind.

'What if they killed him? I...I didn't see what happened after they dragged me from our bedroom.'

The tears fell faster, distorting her vision. The pillow was the only comfort she had and she clutched it tightly, cried into it, her entire body shaking from the force of her tears.

"Jill?"

Silently, she urged Billy to shut up and mind his own business. She did not want him to know of her tears, or that she was slowly falling apart, that as the hope of rescue dwindled, fear for her daughter grew. When in labour, she would be too weak to fight back; they would take the baby and she would be helpless, unable to do anything other than watch, scream and cry.

"Are you okay?"

There were no words to describe just how far from okay she was. The need to see Chris now extended beyond the desire to reiterate her love and assuage the guilt she knew he must have felt over not believing her. All she wanted to know now was that he was alive and well. When she considered the possibility of his death, she felt incredibly alone.

"I'm...fine," she lied.

"You don't sound 'fine'."

"My daughter is due in roughly a week," she snapped. "So _forgive me _if I'm not exactly a pillar of strength at the moment."

He muttered an apology, but she heard him move closer to the grate, perhaps preparing words of reassurance that would likely fall flat.

"Shit."

It was not quite what she had expected, but it was something that she could agree with.

"Listen, Jill, we're getting out of here." His tone was forceful; she almost believed him. "They haven't touched me since you warned them not to. I...I feel a lot stronger now."

And what good would that do them? The facility did not appear to be heavily guarded, but quite frankly, one man with a gun would be enough to stop them in her current state. With no weapons and strength that amounted to little more than desperation, they were doomed to fail.

"I tried to escape once before, but I didn't make it far," he explained. "I was too weak; only made it to the labs before they caught up and threw me back in here. But it's different now."

Hope was a dangerous thing. It encouraged belief in the absurd. But even so, she clutched the tiniest sliver. Because as useless and absurd as it may have been, hope was all they had.

* * *

**_March 11, 2010. 11:30am. Near Washington, D.C._**

Why had he even come? All they would let him do was pace, slowly drive himself crazy.

"Chris, stop it," Alejandra warned. "You're making me dizzy."

Chris scowled, but stopped. He knew why they would not let him near Lloyd, why Leon and Ada took charge of the questioning. They feared the revelation of Jill's death, and knew that he would snap in that moment. He could not deny it; if he heard the words, he would break the man's neck, no hesitation.

"Go sit with Barry," his sister urged. The older man had been placed on guard duty, along with Matthew, Gabriella, Kathy and Connolly. They had tried to talk him into such a role, but he would be nowhere but with them, where the action was, so to speak.

"I'm staying here," he insisted. "You've all been trying to push me out all this time. I'm not going."

He did not want their concern or their sympathy; he could not simply sit by and do nothing while his fiancé and his daughter were in the hands of those who wished them harm. Cracks in his composure had begun to show, and he could feel the toxin within leak into his mind. The smile that he had faked for the last few weeks became more and more difficult to maintain. Truth be told, he was afraid of being left alone, with nothing but his thoughts for company.

The door creaked open, chunks of plaster tumbling from the frame. It was not so much a warehouse they had found themselves in than a heavily dilapidated depot. Fenced off from the public and surrounded by nothing but trees and fields, it was the perfect location for a covert interrogation. But the damn place was also falling down around them.

"Well that was a waste of time," Leon groaned, making sure that the door closed carefully behind them.

"I told you that simply talking would be no help," Ada told him. "I suppose it all boils down to what means more to you: Jill or your morals."

"Let me talk to him," Chris demanded, before their bickering could escalate into a full-blown argument.

All eyes fixed on him, and he sensed the unease before anyone voiced their feelings.

"Okay." Ada spoke before the others, and she did not joke. Claire looked to her incredulously, scoffing as she stepped in front of him.

"You have got to be joking," she fumed.

"Well, Chris does have quite an intimidating appearance," Ada explained. "And perhaps he could appeal to Lloyd's emotional side. Let's face it, we're not exactly getting anywhere with this."

Chris gripped Claire's shoulders as she moved forward, stopping her in her tracks before he turned towards the door.

"We'll give you five minutes alone, then we're coming in," Leon explained.

He did not wait for nods of approval before slipping into the small, dingy room. The stale scent of neglect permeated the air, the light chuckle of their prisoner the accent to the misery.

"Chris Redfield," Lloyd acknowledged. So confident despite the rope that bound him to the chair, rendering him completely defenceless. "I'm surprised they left you alive."

The emotion that crawled beneath his skin was indescribable. He hated every inch of that man, wanted to give him reason never to smile again. Whoever he was, whatever his role in the corporation may have been, his actions were beyond forgiveness.

There was a lock on the door. It was rusted, but it would hold. A sound barely scraped through the silence as he pulled it across, turning to the prisoner without speaking a word.

"You'll find someone else," Lloyd sighed, glancing to the bindings at his wrist, to skin that had begun to burn from the friction of tugging. "You should just let this one go."

Fear that had been denied flickered across his features as Chris settled in a chair opposite him.

"Where is she?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific than that," the prisoner laughed.

'Why bother talking? You know you're going to have to beat the answer out of him. What's with the formality?'

The truth was that he was afraid of confrontation, afraid of what he would do.

"What are you going to do?" the prisoner mocked. "I know all about you, Chris. You are morally just; you won't hurt me."

It was strange just how well this man believed that he knew him. On paper, he was a different man. But family and friends...they could change a man, could drive him to extremes no other would have been capable of. Even Chris did not know what he was capable of right now.

Perhaps as a warning, he rose, leaned over the prisoner so that there was little more than an inch between them.

"One thing that you fail to understand," he said, enunciating every word so that his point did not go amiss. "Is just how much this girl means to me. I love her, more than anything in this world. And the child that she is carrying...that's my daughter. You stole the two most important things in my life. You stole my family, my whole _world_. So before you claim to know me, realise that you have taken from me everything that I had to lose."

Desperation realised, Lloyd shrank back, closed his eyes lest they betray fear that had already been recognised.

"As I said; you do not understand how much she means to me...or the lengths to which I will go to get her back. So you better start talking, or things will become _very_ unpleasant for you."

A cracked smile; a defence mechanism, perhaps. Or maybe his words had not gotten through? All Chris knew was that he saw red in that moment, could hear nothing but the roar of his own emotion, beating at the wall he had erected to keep it at bay. Anger, hatred, sorrow, pain...it wanted freedom, and it wanted vengeance.

"You are never going to see her again."

The wall gave way.

Lloyd's cry disguised the splintering of the chair as he fell back. Chris's knuckles ached, but the pain came as a release. Anger had seized the reins, Chris Redfield taking a back seat, gladly relinquishing control.

The prisoner struggled, but he was no match for him. A small man of average size, likely had never been in a fight in his life. Chris could not recall the last time he had lost a fight, and there was enough strength in his arms alone to split a tree trunk in half.

Jill's image flashed before his eyes. The tears she had shed, the trauma that lingered from captivity, that kept her awake at night. He had sworn since she pried herself from the clutches of Nicholai that he would protect her, would make those who hurt her pay. He had failed to protect her from Wesker; he could not fail here.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

Crawling from the wreckage of the chair, peeling the bindings from his wrists, Lloyd whimpered, cried out when a swift kick to the stomach rolled him onto his back and he was pinned to the ground by a knee that placed painful pressure on his abdomen.

"I-If I told you, they- they would kill me."

"You think I'll be any kinder if you _don't_ tell me?" Chris warned, gripping his collar tightly. "They'll kill you quickly; _I won't let you die_. You'll be eating through a fucking _straw_ for the rest of your life."

His conscience told him to wait for a reply, but his fury wanted to see this man pay. This time there was no pain as his fist made contact, and this time he could not stop. Over and over again, his fist slammed into the traitor's face, blood spilling over splinters, splashing over his hand.

_"I don't want drama," Jill admitted. The tears had dried, but sadness lingered in her eyes. Nervously, she looked to Dr. Williams, seemed to draw strength from the encouraging nod that the counsellor offered. And then she turned back to him. "I just want a normal life. I want to marry you and I want to raise a family with you. I want to _be_ normal. But...I don't feel that it's possible anymore."_

_It pained him that she could only be honest about her feelings in their counselling sessions, but at least there were times that she felt comfortable enough to be open._

_"It's silly, really," she sniffed, dabbing at her nose with a tissue. "After everything we've done, after everything we've been through, after all the violence and death... It's silly that something as simple as a child filled me with so much happiness. I...never thought I had it in me to be a mother. But I was up to the challenge. Hell, I welcomed it with open arms."_

The nose was broken, one eye swollen shut. A hand pressed to his neck, raw fist resting for a moment.

"Do you have any idea how much this meant to her?" His voice was nasal despite ferocity. Because he remembered the happiness that had filled her pregnancy and the joy with which she would order him about the nursery, chastising him if so much as a teddy bear was misplaced.

"I...d-don't...know...anything," Lloyd wept, barely able to speak. His lip was split, tears diluting blood.

With a roar, Chris jumped to his feet, plunging his fingers into his hair. His right hand was numb, fingers barely able to curl out from a fist.

'What would she say if she could see you now?'

Whatever her reaction would be, he knew for a fact that she would do the same had their situations been reversed. He wanted her back, no matter what the cost. But more than that...he wanted her to be safe, to smile and anticipate the birth of her daughter with only joy to overwhelm her. He wanted her to have the opportunity to be the amazing mother he knew that she would be. Instead, she was trapped somewhere, alone and quite possibly terrified, surrounded by enemies and not friends.

"Y-you think...they'd...tell me...where they...took her?" Lloyd laughed, spluttering on blood and saliva. "They just...wanted to know...her medical...details." Chuckling again, perhaps in fear this time, he spat onto the filthy ground. "And how to find her."

Chris turned instantly. Lloyd reached up the wall, attempted to haul himself to his feet. All Chris could see was the future that now seemed little more than a dream, progress that could be undone by the time he found Jill...if he ever found her. This man had betrayed her at her weakest, exploited that which had almost destroyed her.

A sickening sense of satisfaction washed through him at the sound of the scream, the snapping of bone as his boot collided with the prisoner's arm.

"Fuck!" he screamed. "I don't know...anything! I swear it!"

It may have been the truth, Chris did not know. All he knew was that it wasn't good enough.

* * *

Claire had no nails left to chew. It was a habit she thought that she had kicked when she was a teenager, but somehow she felt nervous enough to fall back into old ways.

There was a smile on Leon's lips as he conversed with Ada, gentle laughter drifting into their conversation. The hostility he had shown towards her at Chris and Jill's house seemed to have faded. And she was anxious enough then.

"Quit staring at them," Rebecca sighed. She had almost forgotten about the girl, sitting on the ground with her laptop on her knees. "You Redfields always think the worst."

Claire raised her eyebrows, amazed that she had spoken such words, let alone thought them.

"What the- Oh, come on!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Claire sighed, hovering over her. Within seconds, the laptop was closed, a familiar USB drive disappearing into her pocket. "Oh. Still no luck?"

She did not know if she was the only one to know of the data, only that she had been placed under an immediate hush order. At first, she had been desperate to tell Chris, to grasp hope that whatever the device contained may lead them to Jill. But then the realisation that the data evidently pre-dated Jill's capture by several months turned hope into despair. It was then that they made the decision to keep the new turn a secret, that notifying Chris would only give him false hope and that notifying Leon would land the data in the government's hands...they did not yet know if that was where it should be.

"I've tried everything I can, short of going through the dictionary word-by-word," Rebecca growled. "I even asked Gabriella to have her friend take a look at it...nothing. Whatever it is, it's well encoded and it's not coming out intact without the password."

Comments came to mind but before she could voice any, Rebecca nodded her head to the side, clutched her laptop to her chest and stepped out of the way.

"Claire," Leon said, fingertips touching her arm. As though by instinct, she flinched at his touch, pulled her arm back.

The hurt in his eyes meant nothing to her in that moment, and everything she had felt towards him lately came rushing back.

"This is the part where you say 'we need to talk', right?" He knew her only too well.

Her hand was forceful on his arm as she pulled him aside, out of the watchful gaze of the others.

"What has gotten into you, Claire?" he demanded. "What-"

"First of all, don't speak to me in that tone," she warned. She was not in the mood to be civil. Somehow, Chris's foul mood seemed to have infected her, seemed to have seeped into her pores. Who knew that misery was contagious? "You know, it would be really nice if you showed as much care towards me as you do the other women in your life."

"Other-" Realisation hit. His expression was incredulous, disbelief radiating from every inch of him. "Is this because I asked Ada for help? Claire, she can help! Stop being so selfish and think about Jill!"

She did not understand why he stumbled from the force of the slap. Surely, he had seen it coming? The suggestion that... He was lucky her fist had not been closed.

"I _do_ think about Jill!" she hissed, not wanting to draw the attention of the others. "I think about her every _fucking_ minute of every long day. I think about every time I pull out my cell to call her and hear it ringing in the next room. I think about her every morning that I pull my brother out of bed and pour coffee down his throat just so he can make it through the day. I think about her every time I see her engagement ring around Chris's neck!"

He said not a word, and she was hypnotised by her pain. Her best friend was missing, but she barely felt the loss. It was Chris's that consumed her, that she felt would turn her prematurely grey.

"I don't even have time to consider that she is my best friend and that I miss her like crazy. But don't you _dare_ tell me that I need to consider her in all of this!"

Her chest was tight, breathing difficult. But she powered through, seethed from the rage that had begun to fill her.

"Over the last few days, I have considered telling you to ask Ada for help," she admitted. "I know that she can help - look at what she has done so far. But now I find that you went to her behind my back, and that you kept that from me. You want me to trust you, Leon, but you give me every reason in the world not to!"

She could not help but feel selfish for her thoughts, for the anger that consumed her whenever she considered his actions. Had it been any other, she would barely have given it a second thought. But this was _Ada_, and he knew how she felt about the woman. How could she trust him if it was so easy for him to lie about something so important?

Leon's expression softened, his breathing became unsteady.

"Claire-"

"Leon!"

Ada appeared at the corner, casting a glance to both of them.

"Chris locked himself in," she told them, concerned. "It...It doesn't sound good."

And just like that, her anger was gone, fear for her brother overwhelming everything else.

Alejandra hammered on the door as they approached, screaming his name. As flimsy as the frame was, as frail the door, it would not budge. Screams echoed from the other side, voices exchanging words that she could not discern.

And then...silence.

"Chris!" Alejandra called. "Chris, are you alright?"

The scrape of a bolt, the creak of the door handle.

The figure that stepped through was barely recognisable. Chris's once-white jacket was torn, stained by dirt and blood she could tell was not his. He seemed to be in a daze, stumbling out to join them.

"Call an ambulance," he told them. "He...doesn't know anything."

Rebecca's gasp was enough to deter her from entering the room her brother had just left, but Claire followed him as he picked up his pace, disappeared through a door a little way down the hall.

It was probably a bathroom once; urinals lined alone one wall, sinks along the other. One tap creaked as Chris turned it, tainted water spluttering from the end. It was barely enough to wash the blood from his hands.

She spoke his name softly, jumped back when his fist slammed against the wall.

"He doesn't know anything," he repeated. "If...if he did, he would have spilled it all."

Morbid curiosity begged her to ask what he had done, but she knew better. She had seen his side of him before; the anger that barely hid immeasurable sorrow.

It was exactly how he had been after Jill's fall.

"This isn't the end, Chris."

"Then what the hell is it?" he roared. "This was our _only_ lead and it led nowhere."

Waiting patiently for his outburst to end, she found that it was over sooner than she could have anticipated. His shoulders sagged, and he moved, walked past her to sit against the wall, arms resting on his knees.

"I'm...I'm never going to see her again, am I?"

He turned to her when she joined him, not quite knowing how to display sympathy. She was not used to being the strong one of the two, was more used to folding into an embrace than offering one.

"Don't say that." It was all that came to mind. Because the thought had crossed it many times. She mourned for the friend, and for the lover her brother would lose, for the happiness he had found the day they had put the fear behind them and started a life together.

_Jill had barely arrived, and yet her attention had been stolen already. She and Chris had done nothing for quite some time, simply sat on the bench at the bottom of the Burtons' garden. Chatter had evolved into something else, and she had moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. It was a simple, innocent position, but it seemed so absurd to her eyes._

_Their relationship was one Claire had never believed would come to fruition. Too many years of dancing around their feelings, of denying what they meant to one another, had brainwashed her into the belief that it was simply never meant to be. Yet there they were, smiling together, completely at ease. It was absurd in the fact that it felt so natural; they could have been together for years, not a couple in their early days._

_"Look at him," she told Barry with a grin, distracting the older man from tending to the barbecue. "I've never seen him this happy..._never_."_

"We'll find her," she insisted, ashamed to find that tears ran down her cheeks now. "This isn't the first time she has gone missing, and she has always come back."

He did nothing to hide his tears, even leaned into her when she offered an arm. Because she was the only family that he had right now; she was the only one he felt that he could turn to.

"I can't remember the last time I said this, and there is something incredibly wrong with that fact," she told him. "I love you, big brother. You better not forget that, because I won't be admitting it again any time soon."

A soft laugh escaped his lips, but he remained as he was, broken and defeated.

"Stay strong," she begged. It felt ridiculous to request something that she herself was incapable of doing. "Because Jill's gonna need you when she gets back."

* * *

**_March 11, 2010. 5:00pm. Location unknown._**

Five PM, like clockwork. Dinner was more of the same; foods that she had requested, some she had not. If the crushing pressure of captivity did not kill her, she was sure that the monotony would.

It was steak that she craved; Kobe steak, Chris's favourite. She wanted something to remind her of him. Even a photograph would have sufficed; she was sure that they had many in their possession.

Alas, no steak, and no photograph.

Billy's door creaked open, footsteps inside his cell. It was a new sound - his meal was always thrown, attention never paid to him - but she paid it no heed. A slight break in the routine was hardly enough to hold her interest.

The strangled gasp was enough, the thud of a body hitting the floor.

"Billy!" she cried, food suddenly forgotten. They wouldn't... Not after all this time.

Footsteps, in the hallway now, the jangle of keys at her door. And then, the lock turned, the heavy swung open.

"Quick!" Billy ordered, yanking the key from the lock.

Dumbstruck, she could not move, could only gaze on with an open mouth. And then he was gone, some unseen individual tackling him to the ground. It was the guard, she knew it. Billy had asked so many questions over the last few days; how many guards served the food, what time did the clock in her cell read when it was delivered?

'He's been planning this...'

Devoid of thought, she waddled to the door, amazed by the sight of the struggle that raged before her eyes. A scalpel protruded from the guard's shoulder; a weapon evidently stolen on their last joint visit to the lab.

It was not a fight that Billy was faring all too well in, blood trickling from a fresh wound in his head. But the Taser on the guard's belt caught her eye and before she knew what she was doing, it was in her hand, and she had jabbed it into his side, fury welling within. Even as Billy crawled away, she concentrated, watching the man convulse against the current, a patch of wetness spreading outwards from the crotch of his pants. And then she kicked, finding that while pregnancy upset her balance, it did nothing to dull her strength. Over and over she kicked, all the anger that had raged through her in recent weeks taken out on a man now evidently unconscious, evidently defenceless, weak...

"Jill!"

Billy's voice snapped her from violent fury, from maternal vengeance, and her mind was back in the moment.

"He deserves it, but we have to go..._now_!"

Following as he led, she passed the Taser to his hands so that hers were free to support her bump, to alleviate the discomfort. Adrenaline surged through her, the promise of freedom now a possibility. She had never felt so determined in a long time, knowing that it was not only her own life that she ran for.

Billy pulled her into a nearby storage room, hushed her as three familiar scientists strolled past, oblivious to the captives that hid mere inches from where they walked.

Pausing for breath, Jill considered her partner in crime, considered the muscles that had begun to fade since their first meeting, the tattoo that always caught her attention. He was more determined than she, breathing furiously through his nose, sweat dripping from his brow.

"Which way do we go?" she whispered. He seemed to know the area better than she, had admitted to attempting to escape in the past. How far had he gotten before they caught up? How much did he know?

"Through the lab area," he whispered back. "Security is almost non-existent in that area. After that, it's down three floors and...we'll need a distraction when we get outside, but after that...we're home free."

It seemed too good to be true, but she did not wish to scoff at possible salvation.

Suddenly, Billy signalled to her and then darted out into the hallway, keeping low but moving fast - far too fast for her current state. Occasionally, he would slow down for her, but she feared that they were _too_ slow, that they would end up trapped in a lab, left with nothing but a window for escape.

And then, the sound of nightmares.

"Shit!" Billy swore, his voice barely audible above the siren. "We have to move."

And move they did, pausing only to duck behind a desk as footsteps thundered down the hallway, in the direction of their cells. They sped out into the same hallway when it was clear, moving with speed that was almost painful.

And for Jill it was. Her back ached, ankles throbbed. She could barely draw air into her lungs to breathe, could not support her unborn in a way that made her comfortable enough to keep up the pace. It would have been nothing short of a tragedy if the strain induced labour, if escape was thwarted by the one thing that motivated it.

They had barely made it to the corridor Billy assured her led to an exit onto an outside fire escape when she could go no further, the discomfort too much to tolerate.

"Come on!" Billy encouraged her, grinning from ear to ear. "We're almost there."

Voices echoed through the hallways, arguments drawing closer.

"I...can't," she panted. The smile faded, and so too did the happiness from his expression.

"Jill, you have to!" he urged, forceful this time. "We go down that fire escape and then across the compound; _that's it_! I looked out of the window, it's-"

When her eyes met his again, all hope failed.

"I'm not going to make it that far," she told him, tears pricking at her eyes.

"Then I'll carry you!"

"No!"

The mother within screamed at her, told her that she needed to try, for the sake of her daughter. But common sense told her that she was going nowhere. If she continued to run, it would but strain on herself and quite possibly on the baby. She would slow Billy down and they would likely kill him for what he had done.

"You have to go," she urged, and then scowled at the expression of disbelief that fell upon him. "I'm only going to slow you down! I'm going back in that cell, regardless of what I do now. It makes no sense for us both to be dragged back there."

Hope returned to her when his expression softened, when he saw sense. Because it truly did make sense. He could do nothing for her if he was locked up at her side, or worse. The others evidently had no clue where she had been taken, and if he made it out of here, if he found them...

"Find Rebecca," she pleaded. "And Chris...find Chris Redfield. They will help you, and they can help me. I'll lead them away from you and hopefully buy you some time."

The moments that he took for consideration were moments that stacked against them. They were not far away now, perhaps only on the other side of the labs.

"Go!" she hissed. He jumped, but then he turned, reaching for a nearby door. With one glance over his shoulder, she saw consideration, saw resolve slipping.

"Get out of here or I'll throw you off the damn fire escape!" she warned.

And then he was gone, and she was alone.

With fear in her heart and freedom in mind, she screamed. The sound spurred footsteps, silenced voices. She had promised to draw them away.

And that is exactly what she did.

**AN - Please review :)**


	19. Twenty Four

**AN - **Another early update ^_^. I don't really have anything to say about this chapter, other than the next will be the climax of the story...or the beginning of the climax chapters. Chapter title is from a song by Jem.

Thank you all _so_ much for breaking the 200 mark! I can't believe we did it! Chapter-wise, this is now my longest Resident Evil story and I honestly would not have made it this far without your wonderful support ^_^. And to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - _ebonyXivory777, Ultimolu, Kenshin13, Raidenlover6, Skiptrix, x-Artichoke-x, tek, Chocolate milkahh, Xhian, Metalmark, C. Redfield, EntityDancer, USWeasilgirl, Kimmy _and _xSummonerYunax_ - thank you again!  
I decided against posting the Valentine's Day oneshot that I was working on. I was excited by the idea at first but then it just felt like I was writing it just for the sake of it. This story is now slowly drawing to a close, so I'm going to start work on planning my next soon. It's a sequel to the last three oneshots that I wrote (and I finally updated my profile to include a tiny bit about it) so if you are interested, I suggest checking them out ^_^. Thank you all once again!

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Seventeen - _**_Twenty-Four_

_'In twenty-four hours they'll be laying flowers on my life.  
It's over tonight.'_

**_March 17 2010. 10:00am. Location unknown._**

For once, a dreamless sleep. She almost laughed at the absurdity of the phrase. Her sleep was always dreamless; it was the nightmares that she wanted rid of.

But this morning, she found that she could not rise.

The bindings were tight against her wrists, the pyjamas she slept in gone, replaced by what she could only assume was a hospital gown. The bright lights above the bed told her that she was not in her cell, the screen that had been erected before her, shielding her bump from her eyes, terrifying her to the core.

"What the hell?"

She did not recognise the doctors that milled around her, setting up equipment, placing utensils of frightening proportions onto a tray at her side. They ignored her, every scream and demand for answers going unheard.

"Looks like the anaesthetic wore off," one muttered, barely casting a glance in her direction. "Should we re-administer?"

"No," spoke another. "It's a waste of time. Might teach the bitch a lesson."

"What- What are you doing?" she cried. "Let me go!"

"Let's get this over with," the second doctor told the others. "I want it quick and clean; as soon as she's out, I want her cleaned and checked over."

The next scream was a roar, and she twisted her arms, burns forming on her wrists from the friction of the bindings. A strap across her chest held her down, legs frozen in place by restraints that she could not see.

"Get away from me!" she screamed. "You're not taking her!"

Hostile hands held her shoulders down, the struggle gaining nothing but new wounds.

The cold press of metal to her abdomen drew a strangled cry, and she screamed in agony as it pierced skin, carved a line across her flesh. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, transcended everything that had ever been done to her. And they ignored her, went about their business as casually as though her screams were silent.

She could not even beg them to stop, could not find the breath to beg for mercy. Nausea rose in her throat, tears streamed down onto the pillow. Gasping for air, she could feel them inside of her, could feel flesh tearing that was not meant to be torn. Skin pulled outwards, the wetness of blood against her.

The weight within her womb lifted; she could feel the child torn from her, felt her leave her body.

"No!" she finally found the strength to scream, choking on the pain.

The baby cried, and her body became numb. She barely saw her daughter's head above the screen, but she saw enough of her, pleaded for her life. The girl screamed her lungs out, perhaps sensed the unnatural manner in which she had been brought into the world.

And then the cord was clamped and severed...and the child was taken away.

Agony rushed back, and fear expelled itself.

"Don't bother sewing her up," she heard. "The risk is too high. When she's gone, tag her and take the body downstairs."

Weakness overcame her, air stinging every inch of skin that it touched.

"Chris," she breathed, succumbing to the blackness, to the void that called her name. It would take hours for her to bleed out but her heart was already broken, her soul fractured; there was nothing left to do but give up, give in to relief. "I'm so sorry."

With a guttural cry, her eyes opened, hand already at her chest. Trembling, Jill pushed herself upright, ran her hands over her bump. No blood, no scars...she could feel the girl moving.

"Oh God," she gasped, shaking so hard she feared that she would vomit.

It was not the first time the nightmare had deceived her. It always felt so real; all the pain, all the terror. She never saw it for what it was because she expected the reality every night that she lay down to sleep.

Billy had been gone almost a week now, and she faced the very real possibility that he had been caught as he fled and executed.

'Or maybe he just left you. You barely knew the man, and you placed trust in him. Maybe he just isn't coming back.'

Her limbs were heavy as she heaved herself to her feet, shuffling to the makeshift ensuite bathroom once she found her balance. A toilet, a sink and a bathtub were all they had given her, but she was bitterly grateful for that. Lately, it had only served to be a place of bad news. It was as she stood before the sink that she realised that the baby had shifted its position, that cramp had settled in; both were signs that labour was not far away. And now, she found that there was blood in her underwear yet again. Bloody show; the third sign.

It was with tears that she changed, and that she stumbled back to the bathroom. With a sense of shame and utter degradation, she repeated the previous day's chore of washing her old underwear in the sink, scrubbing until there was no sign of blood. It tore her apart to stoop to such a level, but she feared the discovery of her impending labour more than she did the embarrassment; if they knew that her body was ready, they may speed the process along.

She left them hanging on the side of the bathtub to dry and returned to the cell, to the armchair she had dragged to the back, away from the door.

In the past, she had failed to realise just how much she depended on Billy's company. The absence of his voice or the mere sound of him moving in the cell next door felt like a hole in the head. Now, it was just her and the thoughts that she could no longer silence.

'I'm failing as a mother before she's even born.'

"I really wanted to know you," she spoke softly, running a gentle hand over the swell. "But...I think it's time I face up to the fact that it just might not happen."

Tears ran down her cheeks, dripped from her chin.

"But whatever happens, your daddy won't rest until he has found you."

It seemed strange that when hope died for her, it would live on for her daughter. But she would have it no other way. Chris could raise her alone, could protect her from the world.

"I just wish I could see him again," she wept. "Just one more time. I've spent most of my life loving him but not nearly enough time telling him how happy he made me. Even...even when we were just friends, he was the one person in this world I could trust. My soulmate."

He should have been there, holding her, smiling with her as they urged labour to hurry up because they simply could not wait to meet their daughter.

"He's amazing," she told the baby with a smile. "You'll see... He's so strong, so brave. On the field he was one hell of a soldier. Fearless, determined...he was the best."

The words fell from her lips with little thought, and she wondered if the words were for her child or for her own comfort.

"There were those who didn't like him, said he was cold and arrogant." She laughed softly, reminiscence altering the pH of her tears. "He was cocky, and maybe he was arrogant when we first met, but he was good at what he did. He never cared what anyone thought of him. But the first time I couldn't find a smile for him..."

Plucking a tissue out of her pocket, she wiped the moisture from her cheeks and her chin. There was little point in blotting the dampness from her eyes.

"He was never cold, not to me. My whole life I've had to prove myself; a woman in a man's world. But with Chris, it was never like that. He never let me off lightly because I was a woman, like the others did. If anything, he expected more of me. When…when rivalry turned into friendship, he told me that he was hard on me because he knew that I had so much potential. He just didn't want to see that go to waste. I never expected to fall in love with him, it just happened. He is everything I ever wanted, and so much more than I deserve. He has so much passion for the things he loves. Everything from basketball to family. Being part of his family is the most amazing feeling in the world. I think he spent his whole life waiting for you. My exes all dreamed of sports cars and money; all Chris ever wanted was a child, and a woman who loved him more than anything. I guess...he can't have both, so you have to love him for both of us, okay?"

'She won't remember,' an acidic voice told her. 'They'll have her from birth. If Chris ever finds her, she'll hate him; she'll think that he stole her from her family.'

She could barely breathe from the force of the emotion that overcame her. She may lose her life, but Chris would lose everything. Whatever waited for her on the other side, he was left in this cold, dark world and he would be left alone.

Every step they took to overcome Wesker only led to another remnant of him. First the miscarriage, then the illness, and now her daughter was to be inducted into the same program that turned the man into a monster.

Did his mother cry as she did? Had she spent her final days in a cell, begging her unborn child to love his father in her absence? Given the chance, would he have ended up a normal man with a family of his own?

"Chris will come for you," she repeated, forcing herself to calm down. "You won't go through this. He'll find you and you'll have a wonderful life. He may put your diaper on the wrong way a few times, but he means well. And nobody will ever love you as much as he does."

'And I'll be waiting with your sibling.' It was a morbid thought, but the end seemed painfully near. She could not see a way out of this one, and she had rarely been forced to rely on others to pull her out of trouble.

"I will always love you, my baby girl."

* * *

**_March 17 2010. 9:00pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Rebecca hated working late shifts, but tonight she did not mind. After all, she had traded a few extra hours for two whole days off; more time to search for Jill and work on cracking that damn password.

'Maybe it was sent as a joke?' she wondered. 'It could be empty, and you're driving yourself crazy trying to get into it.'

No, she would not think about the USB drive tonight. Tonight was devoted to Jill; as was the morning she had sworn to remain awake until, not resting until she had found _something_.

She had pulled Jill's records, going over notes from her pre-natal check-ups and talking to her midwife. The baby was healthy, labour was progressing as normal; that was all there was to discover. The midwife - a woman she had luckily been on good terms with since her first day at the hospital - had expressed worry over the stress that Jill would likely be experiencing. It was worry that had stricken them all, but unfortunately they were doing all that they could. It was simply leading nowhere.

Connolly had simply not shown up for work that morning. He had spent most of the previous day helping Chris, and she doubted that today would have been any different. With his daughter ill, he was strained almost to his limits but would simply not listen to pleas to take a day off. Then again, she expected nothing less from him. When Jill was captive at the hands of Nicholai Ginoveaf, despite being injured himself, he had rushed to her rescue only a few minutes behind Chris and had it not been for his swift efforts and refusal to follow protocol, she may well not have survived.

'You should have called him anyway,' she told herself, alert as she stepped out into the darkness. The receptionist was absent, the waiting room at this quiet end of the hospital empty as it always was this time of night. Even the security guard was absent.

A smoker stood in the shelter a little way into the car park, a gentleman in a short, light-coloured trench coat entering through the pedestrian entrance to the area.

The air was colder than she was used to, the bite almost painful. It was abnormal weather for March, and she regretted not bringing a scarf. She could feel that her cheeks were flushed, but they were cold to the touch.

There were no footsteps, only the hand. It gripped her arm, pulled her roughly to the side. She barely saw the tissue out of the corner of her eye, but she reacted. An elbow to the ribs and she was able to spin, the assailant dropping the white rag for her to stamp on, preparing to drive her heel back into his groin.

But he was faster, taller, and stronger. Perhaps Leon's height, almost the same build as Chris. She was a good fighter, even after all these years, but physical strength was something that she had always lacked. He kicked out her legs, came down upon her with his weight before she could react.

The blow of his fist almost knocked her clean out in one swipe. She could barely see, but like a frightened cat she clawed at his face, tried in vain to free her legs. Adrenaline left fear no room to sneak in, but she felt the pain, felt the bruise begin to form where his knuckles had connected with her skin.

And then he was gone. The sudden rush of air that surged forth in his absence hit her hard, her vision not yet restored. Her surroundings flitted in and out of focus, and her feet simply weren't steady enough to keep her upright.

"Get up!" a voice screamed at her. There was something familiar about it, something that thumbed at the pages of nostalgia. She fought as a hand gripped her collar, but it was towards the reception area that she was pulled, out of the cold air. She could barely make out the shape of the security guard rushing from the direction of the restroom, shouting into his radio.

She crashed against the cold tiles as the force that propelled her forward disappeared. Spinning where she fell, she recognised the muscular man as the smoker, the man in the trench coat wrestling him on the ground, holding his own despite the clear advantage of the assailant.

With weak hands, she pulled herself to the nearby seats, hauled herself up as bile rose in her throat.

'Don't say I have a concussion,' she groaned inwardly. Her thoughts were erratic, and she barely noticed the unconscious form of her one-time assailant hauled past her, subdued by the wheezing guard.

Legs clad in dark jeans rushed towards her. She did not know what to think or what to expect, wishing that the ringing in her ears would cease and that sense would return to her.

"Rebecca!" the voice called again. Hands found her face, warmed her cheeks as he tilted her head. "Look at me! Are you okay?"

The world swam back into focus, colours assigning themselves to objects, lines becoming more defined.

And then she was lost again, floating somewhere behind sharp blue eyes. They should have been cold, but somehow they were comforting beyond anything she had experienced.

"Oh God," she gasped. "No! No, no, no; I'm hallucinating. This is worse than I thought."

When he laughed, it was his laughter, his lips that twisted into a smile. He was older, his faced lined and his skin almost deathly pale, but it was him. She would have known those eyes anywhere.

"Billy?" she breathed, reaching out to touch a scar that cut across his jaw. He looked as though he had been to hell and back, fighting every demon bare-knuckle on the way. "But...you're dead. It's not...it's not _possible_."

Tears spilled over his hands now, and she batted them away, reaching for the sleeve of his coat, rolling it back. And there it was; the tattooed curl of an 'e' against his right wrist.

'There's no way in hell two people would have that stupid-ass tattoo.'

"You think death could ever stop me?"

He felt real, more than a hallucination. He was warm, his hair soft like it should be, scars smooth and lips thin; imperfect but _real_. And her _heart_ felt him, told her to stop questioning a fortunate turn of fate. The literal man of her dreams was here, yet she dedicated every thought to disproving his existence.

"Billy Coen would never wear a trench coat." It was stupid, but true, and she was grasping at straws now.

"That's kind of the point in me wearing one," he chuckled, eyeing her as though he were waiting for something.

And then she threw her arms around his neck, both her mind and her heart finally accepting the truth. And the tears came full force, dripping onto his back. The arms that returned her embrace held her painfully tight, but she welcomed the ambiguous comfort. Because this was not dream Billy, this was not some fantasy or a product of her imagination; this was real, and he was here...holding her.

She wanted to cling to him forever, to tear him a new one for the weeks she had cried over him. But he wanted their contact to end, peeled her from him so easily.

"I thought you were dead!" she sobbed, feeling shame down to the core but simply not caring. "Why the hell didn't you call? Where have you been? Why-"

He pressed a finger to her lips and she was silenced. But his hands never left her, the smile never faded from his eyes.

"Jill Valentine," he said. The name tore through her and she pushed his hands away, fury seeping in where happiness had once dwelled. She could not tolerate the sound of her friend's name spoken by those who did not love her as she did. "I know that you're looking for her, and so does she. More than that, I know where she is. I can't describe how happy I am to see you again, but that has to wait. I need you to take me to Chris Redfield."

The information was too much to take in. It was as though Pandora's Box had been opened before her eyes and she did not know which way to look. Billy was here, he was alive, and he could take them to Jill. How could this not be a dream? She rarely got what she wanted, let alone face two meteorites of happiness at once.

"W-What?" she stuttered. "H-how? How do-"

"Long story short, they took me too but I escaped," he explained, rushing his words. "She stayed behind so that I stood a chance, and it's been almost a week so we need to hurry. I'll explain everything later, I promise."

After the maelstrom of thought, it felt somewhat pleasant for only one item to pass through her mind. Fixated on Jill and only Jill, she jumped to her feet, welcoming his steady hands on her waist as she swayed.

"Hey!" the guard called, waving at them as she was ushered forth. "You gotta wait. The cops are on their way, they're gonna want a statement."

"You see that guy there?" Billy told him curtly, nodding to the unconscious form on the floor. "His friends have our friend, and if we don't go now something terrible is going to happen to her and her baby. If your conscience can handle that, go ahead and try to stop us."

Barely a moment passed before he waved a hand in the air, and Billy pulled forcefully on her arm.

"I can't believe this is happening," she muttered.

With Billy at her side and Jill on her mind, she was sure than she had never ran so fast in her life.

* * *

**_March 17 2010. 9:20pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

His knuckles were still bruised, but they no longer ached. Chris inspected them carefully, feeling nothing. No glee at making Lloyd suffer, no sense of accomplishment for theoretically sending a message to the enemy. Not even regret. Just the emptiness of knowing that it had achieved nothing.

Lloyd was out of hospital within three days. He needed no prompting, told the police that a gang of youths had dragged him into the old building, that he couldn't remember much more. It was not to save Chris's ass, he knew that; if he came clean, he would be the one in jail, facing more than a few years behind bars.

Lloyd had been their last lead, and almost a week had passed since then. Even Ada had run out of ideas, though she was still around. He knew from Claire's prevailing coldness that she remained with them.

There was nothing left to do but occupy himself, waiting for Rebecca to return home from work before the search began again. He did not want to rest, but Claire had changed the password on his laptop and stolen his car keys; there was physically nothing he _could_ do.

So he waited, sorting through a box of photographs. Jill had wanted them all put away before the birth; if he could do nothing for her, then at least he could do this. They covered more than a decade of their lives together, chronicling every stage. She was a brunette in most of them, oblivious to the hell that awaited them both. It was a chore simply to decide which would go in the album and which would remain in the box; each memory was as precious as the last.

Tears did not flow until he reached the bottom, finding a stray blonde photograph amongst those from their S.T.A.R.S. days. It was recent, taken and developed perhaps a week before she disappeared. Claire had insisted that they needed more photographs of her pregnant days, and had taken to being their official photographer that day. He stood behind his beloved, her hands over his on her bump. Claire had sworn vehemently at them both for ruining the photograph by looking away, but it was into one another's eyes that they gazed, smiling naturally, displaying every inch of happiness that they felt.

Instinct told him to flip over the photograph, and he did. Jill's feminine script was scrawled on the back; she had a habit of writing on the back of photographs, noting the date, place and what she felt at the time. Because photographs were more than pictures to her; they were windows to the past, to the times that made her smile.

_'Chris,  
This one's a keeper!  
We love you so much!  
- J and bump xxx'_

A circle of moisture fell onto the ink, but his only move was to hold it out of the reach of his tears. And he cried his emotion away. Every sliver of pain that he had denied before the others, all of the weakness that he would not let them see. As far as they knew, he didn't cry.

These days, he seemed to do nothing but. They thought that grief kept him awake, but it was the coldness of the bed that interrupted sleep. The empty space beside him served as a searing reminder that she was not here, that she was in trouble and he should be searching for her, not sleeping. He needed her in his arms to find peace, but he doubted that she would ever be there again.

A gentle hand on his shoulder shocked him, almost caused the photograph to slip out of his hand. And the face that he turned to was not the one he had expected.

"It's about time," Ada said, voice so soft it was almost terrifying. "It's been painful to watch you this past week. I thought...well, I don't know what I thought. But tears are healthy; don't hide them."

He did not know if it was the tears or the sheer shock of seeing her that stole his voice, but he found that he had no words for her.

Sighing, she retracted her hand and sank down onto the bed beside him.

"I know that you don't have reason to trust me," she told him. "But I can help, and I want to. I have no reason for _that_; it just feels right. I'm not doing this for my employers, or for Leon. I'm doing this for Jill and her baby...your baby."

Trust was not a luxury he had right now. She was useful to him and so he tolerated her. He had no reason to hate her, but his heart was cold and incapable of feeling anything but the pain of Jill's abduction. He was grieving for a loss that may yet be reversed.

"I am grateful for your help," he admitted. "But I don't expect you to understand any of this. Jill is more than a lover to me; she is my best friend. She is the one who has always been there for me, no matter what. If our positions were reversed, she'd burn the whole city down to find me. All that is stopping me from doing the same is my damn sister's theft of my lighter."

Ada smiled, as did he; it was not intended, but it seemed natural. The tears had dried and his game face was slowly slipping back into place.

"I don't expect you to understand because you pretended to love a man just to gain Leon's trust. You can't understand what we are going through because love is just another weapon to you."

Something dark flickered across her eyes. She was a dangerous woman; it was obvious in every movement that she made. Emotions were useless in a role such as hers, and those of others were simply buttons to be pressed to bend them to one's will.

"You think you know me, yet you make asinine assumptions," she snapped, her lips thin, eyes cold. "John was an easy way to get what we wanted...to them. At first, he was nothing more than a mark, but I fell for him, just like they warned me not to. I loved him with more of my heart than I knew how to give. Love is a weakness to me, Chris, not a weapon. It got me into this game, it turned me into the 'cold-hearted bitch' your sister seems to think I am, and it is going to kill me one day."

Her honesty astounded him. She could have been lying, as his suspicion told him, but maybe that was the point? Perhaps she told him with the hope that he would believe it was all a lie? She was deliberately aloof, obviously had few friends; it must have been an incredibly lonely world that she lived in, with nobody but herself to confide in.

"Finding Jill satisfies both my employers' interests and my own. It doesn't matter whether or not you trust me, only that you can."

Words were once again lost to him, and when she plucked the photograph from his hands, he let her.

'You don't get this far without losing something,' he knew. He had lost seven of the greatest friends he had ever made, had lost himself somewhere along the way. He thought that was enough, thought that the loss of his first child would be the final theft. But while he still had something to lose, it appeared that there was always someone or something there to take it.

"She's very pretty," Ada told him with a smile. "Your baby is going to be one good-looking kid."

He had to agree, despite the swell of the ego that came with her remark. She would have her mother's looks, and her strength; she would be a wonder, a little miracle.

"We'll find her," Ada promised. "I don't make promises very often, but I always keep them."

Somehow, her words had been the right ones. A sense of confidence that he had though impossible at this stage swept over him. Because as long as he lived, he would not rest until he had found them.

The vibration of his cell against his leg stole his attention. Absent-mindedly, he retrieved it, his eyes still on her as he accepted the call.

"Chris!" Rebecca sighed, laughing to herself in apparent relief. "Where are you? Are you at home?"

"Yeah, I'm waiting for you," he told her. "Where are you?"

"I'm on my way. Chris, I know where she is!"

Slowly, he felt every bodily function shut down; everything from his heart to basic cellular activity. Breath caught in his throat, unsure of which way it needed to go.

"W-What? Rebecca, if this is a joke, it's in extremely poor taste."

Because what else could it be? They had been searching so long, had found nothing, and now the answers had found them? Luck such as this did not come their way often, and he could feel both his body and mind rejecting the suggestion that it had.

"I'm not joking, Chris!" She was so excited, so happy; he could hear the smile on her voice. "I...I don't have an exact address but we know the basics. It should be enough for Ada to fill in the blanks. Don't you understand? This time tomorrow, we could have her back!"

"Chris?"

Ada gripped his arm, pried the phone from his hands when he did not move, did not speak.

"Hello?" Pulling the phone away from her ear, she swore at the device, turning to him for answers.

"You keep your promises?" he breathed, the hope that swelled within him almost suffocating. "I think...you just got a chance to prove it."

* * *

**_March 18 2010. 1:00am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

The last few hours had been one hectic blur. Somehow, time had dissolved into nothingness, and as sleep claimed the group one by one, Claire found that she remained stubbornly awake.

"I guess it figures the one time I can't sleep, you're out like a light," she sighed, pulling the blanket over her brother's sleeping form. He had not even changed out of his clothes before passing out, lost in a sleep so deep that she doubted an earthquake would wake him.

'At least he is finally sleeping.'

There was no reason for her to remain here anymore, and the exhaustion of the last few weeks had finally begun to take its toll on her too. As she left the master bedroom, she turned to check on Rebecca in the guest room she had taken to, too afraid to return home alone. It was perhaps not the best idea to return to an empty apartment, but Claire needed the fresh air, if not the time alone.

Billy slept on the sofa, slumped against one arm. Ada's interrogation had evidently taken its toll; she seemed determined to wring every detail of information out of him, enough times to know that he spoke the truth.

Her own suspicions were pricked the instant Rebecca pushed the stranger through Chris's door and expected them to place unconditional trust in him. Almost a week had passed since his claimed escape, and it was only now that he came to him. He had claimed that he had passed out from wounds both sustained in the escape and those that had not fully healed, that one minute he was stumbling down an open road and the next he was in hospital facing questions from both medical staff and police. But honestly, she had difficulty accepting his word. It was entirely possible that he was leading them into a trap, or even leading them away from Jill.

But the way that Rebecca acted around him... It had been so long since she had seen such happiness in the girl's eyes, and while Rebecca was not quick to trust, those that she did trust always proved to be reliable.

Claire just hoped that this Billy guy was right, and that Jill would be back with them this time tomorrow.

Ada had already contacted her people with what they knew, had promised them all that by cross-referencing Billy's rather vague directions with known Tricell-owned properties, they would be able to pinpoint Jill's location.

What terrified her the most was knowing that she was being held nearby - had Billy not ran the wrong way after his timely escape, he would have walked right into St. Mary Hope's catchment area. Effectively, he would have been brought right to them. It all made perfect sense. After all, it was human nature to miss what was right beneath one's nose. In her current condition, it would be too much of a risk to take her far; it was entirely likely that they had taken her to a smaller facility to give birth and then moved both her and the baby once it was safe.

'If she has given birth already, it may be too late.'

Shaking the thought from her mind, she tore her eyes away from the newcomer...and something inside of her broke.

Leon always insisted on working at Ada's side, claiming that it was due to a lack of trust in her. So why then did he feel comfortable enough to sleep next to her, her head on his shoulder, his tilted towards her?

'They look...perfect,' she realised with a heavy heart. Because she suited everything that he was. She was dangerous, secretive...exotic. And she was boring old Claire Redfield, barely able to stand the sight of a gun these days. How could she even compare?

Tears rushed to her eyes, blinded her as she ran for the front door. She missed by barely an inch, but it was enough to knock the table, to create a bang that she felt in her bones.

"Claire?"

Both Leon and Ada were suddenly awake, Billy continuing to snore obliviously in the background. She froze as their eyes met, panicked as she fumbled for the lock.

And then she was outside, the cool breeze knocking sense back into her.

'Why are you running? You have nothing to run from!'

But run she did, until her legs failed her, knees buckled and she collapsed against the porch. Her lungs seemed to shrivel as she tried to draw breath, heart heavier than lead. She was sure that it had stopped beating, or at the very least had decided that tearing itself to pieces was far more productive.

"Claire!"

She pushed Leon away when he caught up, but his hands found her again, supported her despite all that she screamed at him.

"Go away!" she demanded. Because facing him was something she desperately did not want to do right now. "I can't talk to you, not now."

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll drive you home; maybe your tongue will loosen a little on the way."

Why did he not understand the simple need to be alone?

"No!" she insisted. "Just go back inside, Leon. She'll be missing you."

Silence, and his hands slipped. They found her again when she fell to the grass, green stains upon the knees of her jeans. Something paralysed her, forced her to remain with him, in his arms when he pulled her there.

"Claire, baby," he whispered, holding her tighter than he ever had before. "This is ridiculous. This jealousy is unfounded."

There were no accusations in his words, only simple facts. She trusted him enough to give him her heart, but this was Ada...she cancelled out everything, changed every rule that had ever existed.

She knew that Leon had loved her, whether or not he would admit this himself. For so many years, she had captivated him and now she was back in his life.

"I can't do this," she gasped, struggling to breathe. "I know that she is helping, and I am grateful for that. But...I look at the two of you together and...and I can see how perfect you are-"

"Stop it!" he snarled, suddenly pulling back. "If I wanted Ada, I could have had her. If she was the one I wanted, I would not be with you, I would not be here right now. _You_ are the one I want, Claire."

Insecurities weighed down upon her, and she found herself crying on his shoulder, arms crossed stubbornly against her chest. But he held her still, whispered soothing words into her hair.

She could not leave him, despite all that she had promised herself, all that she had threatened him with. Because although she called her heart back, it refused to return. Wherever he went, it too would go.

Her lips found his before she was aware that she had moved, lapping up the comfort as though it were the last taste she would have. She was in love with everything about him, and every inch of her body seemed determined to prove that, to lay claim to what was hers and defend it against that which threatened their union.

"Baby," he chuckled, testing his strength as he pulled back. "Calm down. Come on, I'll take you home."

"I'll be fine on my own." And there it was; her mind warring with her heart.

"If I said I won't be, would you let me stay with you?" he asked with a smile. "I don't care what you say; it's too dangerous. I'm coming with you whether you like it or not."

She nodded weakly, gathering herself despite the humiliation that began to creep over her.

Her mind was in no better shape than her heart, but she knew despite all of the fear and pain that above everything, she did not want to be alone tonight.

Tomorrow would always be there. Tonight, she could let go.

* * *

**_March 18 2010. 3:00am. Location unknown._**

Waking in the middle of the night was nothing new to Jill, nor was the ensuing stagger to the bathroom. Deprived of her daily walks as punishment for the failed escape, boredom now added to the list of issues that ensured a restless night. Truth be told, she was surprised that she had slept at all with the wave of Braxton-Hicks that had hit shortly after she had climbed into bed. They were incredibly mild given previous experience, but she was so on-edge lately that she noticed every minor detail.

'You should be with Chris,' was the only thought that passed through her mind. He would have coached her through these moments. Right now, they should have been packing for the hospital and chatting excitedly about the impending arrival of their daughter.

She had chosen a natural birth; no drugs, no fuss. It would happen at the hospital, not at home, from equal fear of complications and of what any mishaps would do to their lovely cream carpets. Chris would be with her, holding her hand the whole time. And when their daughter was brought into the world, he would be the one to cut the cord and she would smile despite exhaustion.

The water that ran over her hands was at least warm, though she splashed a handful of cold onto her face, feeling uncomfortably warm for a March night.

And then she felt it. A ripple, nothing more. It barely registered in terms of pain, but she felt everything these days.

_The heat was overwhelming, almost suffocating her. It was not the usual heat of the summer; more a sweaty humidity that seemed to radiate from her skin. Discomfort throbbed in her abdomen; cramp if she had ever felt it._

_'But cramp is impossible,' she realised. 'You're pregnant! Pregnant women don't-'_

_The pain grew, flowered as she dropped the glass into the sink. Sweat beaded against her skin, trickled down the inside of her thigh._

_And she ran, knowing that she needed to keep cool. Heat was not good for the baby, and it was thoughts of the child and nothing else that filled her mind._

_She barely made it to the bathroom before her legs gave way, another wave of blinding agony almost crippling her. And then she saw it; the flash of red against pale skin, the shock carving through her heart._

_"No!"_

_With trembling hands, she pulled up the skirt of her dress. There was no mistaking where the blood stemmed from, what that pain was. And then it came again, and she slumped against the bathtub. Standing was not an option, reaching the nearest telephone impossible._

_It was more than physical now, and the tears that burned upon her cheeks were more than a reaction to the pain._

_'I can't lose this baby!' she begged in what little corner of her mind remained free from terror. 'Please! Don't take them away from us!'_

"Shit!" she swore, consumed by a memory that often reappeared in nightmares. "No! Please...not her too."

As she stumbled back to the bed, preparing to scream for help, to beg her captors to do whatever it took to save the girl, words spoken by a midwife from days past returned to her.

Contractions. That was what the pain had been that day. Premature labour, they had called it, before 'spontaneous medical abortion' was found to be a more appropriate description of what had occurred. And then when the contractions were needed, they lulled and she almost bled out, almost followed her child to the grave.

What she felt then, in that initial stage, she recognised as that which troubled her now. At full term, labour could hardly be described as 'premature'.

"No!" she whispered urgently, pressing a hand to her bump. "You're early! Please don't do this. Stay, just a few more days."

But the deed had been done, events set in motion.

And the clock, at last, began to tick.

**AN - Please review :).**


	20. The Eleventh Hour

**AN - **Another early update ^_^. This was a tough one to write, and I really hope it didn't come out too rushed; I wanted it to be quite fast-paced. The last section was a lot more difficult to write than I thought it would be, too, but I'm reasonably happy with it. I hope you all enjoy.

And thank you to everyone who reviewed! _Ultimolu, Ninja-Gnome, USWeasilgirl, Kenshin13, ebonyXivory777, Skiptrix, x-Artichoke-x, Metalmark, EntityDancer, C. Redfield86, Chocolate milkahhh, Kimmy, Zenu_ and _xSummonerYunax_: thank you! I hope you all enjoy the latest chapter ^_^.

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Nineteen - _**_The Eleventh Hour_

_'The clock talked loud. I threw it away, it scared me what it talked.'  
_~Tillie Olsen~

**_March 18 2010. 6:00pm. Location unknown._**

They checked on her only at meal times, barely casting a glance as they brought food and cleared away dirty plates. Jill did not feel like eating, but she knew that she had to. Anything to maintain the ruse. What she could not eat went down the toilet, flushed with trembling hands.

The pain was substantial now, coming in waves that became increasingly frequent. It was perhaps a small mercy that her waters had not yet broken, that she did not feel the urge to push. Pain, she could hide, but the frustrated cry of a newborn was something else entirely.

Every lonely minute was spent begging the girl to hold on, knowing that every second was precious. But in labour's usual habit, she could feel the contractions growing stronger. Whether or not they were becoming more frequent, she did not know; time appeared to be dragging, each painful surge drawing the seconds to their limits.

Bracing herself as another hit, she controlled her breathing, calmed herself so that panic did not accompany fear. If her waters broke, it was all over. The sting lingered this time; there was little doubt that they were getting longer.

"I'll do what I can," she hissed, grimacing in the echoes. "But they're going to take you. Don't believe what they tell you. If you gained anything from your father and me, let it be your heart. Trust it...just long enough for our friends to find you."

Every footstep out in the hallway pushed her further to the edge.

'You can't keep this up,' she knew. 'What if there are complications? What if she needs to be delivered by C-section?'

If she told them, they could help the baby. Her fate would be sealed with such an admission, but if it bought the girl but one extra second of life...

Losing her terrified her more than the thought of death. She was so sick of just waiting to die, of wondering when it would happen and how.

In many ways, she felt as a lab rat, trapped, knowing its fate but too weak to fight back. And perhaps that was what she was. In the latter part of Billy's captivity, it seemed that they were preparing him for experimentation; it was entirely likely that this was what they had in mind for her too.

"Chris," she whispered. She had been wearing his name out lately. "Hurry. _Please_."

* * *

**_March 18 2010. 9:00pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Too much time had passed. It was not until evening when Ada finally returned, a heavy bag slung over one shoulder, rolled-up map in hand. Chris's mind had been buzzing all day, a smile barely kept from his lips by warning. There was little to prove that this lead would be the one to take them to Jill, but he felt in his heart that it was. And now...

"This is it!" Billy exclaimed, glancing down at a photograph that Ada had dropped before him. "This is the place!"

Without thinking, Chris snatched it from his hands, glared down at the print with Gabriella hanging over one shoulder.

"It looks like an ambulance depot or something," she noted, squinting at the vehicles that filled the yard. The building was relatively small, but the whole site was fenced off with security cameras pointing in every direction. The presence of guards may have been lacking, but he was sure that a small army lurked behind the walls and that one glimpse of the rescue party on camera would unleash hell.

And then the concrete faded from view. In his mind's eye, all that he could see behind one of those barred windows was Jill, alone and frightened. No, not frightened. While she may have feared for the life of her child, she rarely feared for her own.

"For all intents and purposes, it _is_ an ambulance depot," Ada confirmed. "This was the only place for miles that matched Billy's description and as it transpires, Tricell own this charming building. Now, it is too far from any city to effectively operate as it should; there are depots far closer to local hospitals and so its use has been redundant for the most part. Simply put, it is the perfect hiding place for a hostage. Security is minimal, although that has no bearing on what we will find inside, and as I suspected, this facility is on the outskirts of Arlington."

For once, he saw the beauty in her words. It was not that she had been under their noses all along, but that it would take very little time to reach her.

"It's dark out," he noted. "That works to our advantage."

"Precisely," Ada acknowledged with a smile.

"We need a plan," Alejandra hummed. Of everyone present, it was she he assumed would be against the idea of heading out immediately. And then he caught Gabriella's eye, and realised just what motivated her mother. Gabriella was her whole world, and she had put herself through hell to protect her. He often saw Jill in the fiery Latina, and he knew that she recognised it too. A mother desperate to protect her daughter, and another desperate to help. "We can't just storm in there, all guns blazing."

She smirked as she cast him a friendly glance. Oh, she knew him all too well.

"This bag contains all of the equipment that we will need," Ada told them, patting the large duffel. "And I have more in the van. The most important factor here is that we cannot use live ammunition. What we are doing here is still illegal. The last thing we want is to get Jill back and find ourselves with a lengthy jail sentence."

Though part of him seethed at this admission, he knew that she had a point. If they could get to Jill, they would have the evidence that they needed to bring an investigation against Tricell. But if they left a trail of bodies in their wake, not only would they face prosecution but they would also harm the cause. If all went as planned, he could pull strings at the BSAA, and Leon with those higher up, and the whole incident would be forgotten...but only if they were successful.

"It shouldn't matter either way," Billy chuckled. "I have enough on them to make Umbrella's takedown look routine."

Rebecca questioned him with a short hum, and he replied with a smile that was perhaps not entirely sly. Affection, restrained. He wondered if she noticed, or if her nonchalant obliviousness was genuine.

"You know they came for you because of the USB drive, right?" he asked. "Rebecca, I am so sorry that-"

"Wait a minute," she hushed, holding up a hand. "How- Was that- Was that _you_?"

Confusion rippled throughout the group as she reached for her handbag and retrieved a small blue device.

"What is it?" she demanded, suddenly interested in the little blue stick and nothing more. "I couldn't get into it! There's some stupid password locking me out."

As Billy plucked it from her hands, he allowed Chris to take it, to inspect it and find that it was little more than an ordinary, albeit scuffed, USB drive.

"Rebecca. That was the password. And it contains everything on Tricell..._everything_. Research data, black market sales, illegal trading. Whatever happens to us after we get Jill out of there, this will save our asses...and it will bring them down."

It was all too much, yet again. In one night, not only would he be reunited with his fiancée and their unborn child, but they would also seal the fate of Umbrella's successor.

'Jill always said that everything happens for a reason,' he mused. If only the reason would stop being so hard on her.

"You need to keep that safe," Ada warned them. And Claire turned suddenly, perhaps under the impression that her interest in Jill would fade now that she had the evidence that she sought. "We may be able to gather more while we are there. So I suggest that we split into teams."

And just like that, Chris stepped back into his military shoes. The information seemed to slot into place in his mind, roles assigned without much thought. He saw a way, and now he saw the means.

"Connolly, how easy would it be for you to obtain a few ambulances?" he asked.

Connolly reached into his pocket, produced a key and shrugged lightly.

"With this key?" he grinned. "No problem. If they find out that they are gone, I can say that I took them out for repairs. How many do you need?"

In his head, Chris counted those present.

"Let's say that we have three in charge of comms," he theorised. "We'll use Barry's van; it can park further up the road. Then we can have...four teams of two, each entering from a different direction. If we can fit four in an ambulance, let's say two. They should be reasonably inconspicuous, given the facility."

He did not expect there to be blueprints, and in his mind he had already placed himself with Billy. He did not trust the man, not entirely, but he had little choice right now.

'He described her,' he reminded himself. 'Everything that she said...everything that she is. You could recognise her from his words alone.'

The decision to pair up lay solely in the fact that Billy could lead him straight to Jill, could ensure that he pulled her from the cell himself; that he was there for her as freedom became hers once again.

Leon and Ada would form a team, if for no reason other than he knew that his friend could handle her. One step out of line, and he would sense it, would stop disaster before it occurred. Connolly would go with Claire; a medic on-hand should anything happen to her. And Rebecca...

"I'll go," Gabriella volunteered. "I may be young, but I know what I'm doing."

"Out of the question!" he mother refused. "You will work on comms with your father and I."

Shooting the man in question an exasperated glance, she gritted her teeth and drew a deep breath.

"Have I ever lost a fight?" she sighed. "Mum, I know several forms of martial arts, and I certainly know how to handle a gun. I will be able to do more on the field than in some van. Think of everything Chris and Jill have done for us in the past! This is the least that I can do to repay them."

Alejandra sighed quietly, and her husband's hand slid over hers. She had almost lost Gabriella more times than she liked to remember, but Chris realised that more often than not it had been Jill or himself who had brought her back to safety. While they did not expect anything in return, she always repaid those who had done her a kindness.

"I don't want to be the one to come between you," Matthew sighed. "But Gabby's right, honey. I'm not happy about this either, but I know that she can handle herself. She's not a child anymore; we have to let her make her own decisions."

"What if it was dad and Julio?" Gabriella asked quietly. "Wouldn't you want to do whatever you could to bring them back?"

Slowly, Alejandra nodded. If there was ever a sight Chris had never expected to see, it was this one, it was this moment in all its glory.

"Okay."

* * *

**_March 18 2010. 11:00pm. Location unknown._**

There were no words as they slipped out of the vehicles and into the darkness. The facility loomed just beyond the trees, minimum lighting cast over the grounds. From here, Leon could see several guards, hiding around the back, smoking and laughing. They were armed; this was definitely the right place.

"She's still here," he muttered to Claire. Call it intuition or years of experience; he could _feel_ that she was here.

Beside him, Claire nodded but did not meet his eye. It would seem that she was still unhappy with the teams, though refrained from screaming her feelings because it had been Chris that had organised everything, and not him. Because though he felt that it was safer if Ada remained with him, he knew that Claire would not see it this way, and that he would pay for it for a long time to come if he had volunteered his role.

"The cells are on the top floor," Billy whispered. "North end. I came down the fire escape on the South-East corner. I was kind of hoping that we could get in that way, but I guess they're paying extra attention to it now."

"Whatever way we enter, we're going to meet opposition," Ada pointed out. "That's why we have these."

She checked her weapon and the darts on her belt. The sedative, she had explained, was strong enough to take down a bioweapon of human origin; that was what they had been designed for. On a normal, healthy human, the sedative would last at least eight hours. It should be more than enough time to pull Jill out of there and send in the BSAA.

"Okay, then we move out," he told them, nodding when Chris caught his eye. "Remember; we need to remain as covert as possible. If you're made, act quickly. The less time we give them to smuggle her out, the better chance we have."

"You really think they'll try that?" Rebecca wanted to know.

"If she means that much to them, they'll do what they can to keep her as far away from us as possible."

"She won't go without a fight," Chris insisted. "And if she realises that we're here, she'll do her part."

With a smile, Leon did not refute this. Hormones had only reinforced natural strength; they wouldn't know what hit them.

Pressing a finger to his earpiece, he checked on Barry, Alejandra and Matthew, safely parked where the enemy would not detect them. The ambulances were abandoned a few metres from the fence and as hoped, appeared not to have attracted attention.

No words remained to be spoken, and the trees swallowed them all, shadows blending with borrowed black uniforms.

Ada was faster than he, and far, far quieter. All it took was a single moment of distraction, and she was gone, reappearing seconds later by the fence.

Light did not touch this area of the grounds; a blind spot for the enemy. By the time they discovered the hole that she clipped into the fence, they would be long gone. The others were out of sight now, silence falling as urgency rushed forth.

The east side of the yard was devoid of vehicles, though crates were piled against the wall, arrange haphazardly between the building and the far reaches of the fence. Perfect for cover, but they also limited visibility. They would not see the enemy until they were on top of them. The fire escape Billy had described had been completely removed, rivets and holes still visible where it had once stood.

"Go!" Ada urged, ducking beneath the wire.

The simple thought of keeping up with her was exhausting, but he powered on, squeezing through the small hole.

"Shit!"

A sharp tug on the leg of his pants brought his attention to a snag. Evidently, Ada was not accustomed to working with a partner; the hole was barely big enough for her to squeeze through. And the more he tugged, the tighter the fabric clung to the steel. Blood stained the surface of his skin, the sting barely noticeable but the irritation severe.

And when he looked up, it was into the eyes of the enemy. Shock seemed to grip the guard, and for the briefest of moments, time seemed to stop. Evidently, the aging man had never before been challenged, had perhaps never expected to be. Leon could see that his weapon was no dart gun; that his ammunition was real. The suppressor would dull the sound, but the bullet would tear through him.

But the gun clattered to the ground, and the guard fell, spent dart dislodging from his neck. Neither man had seen Ada's approach, and no sooner had she moved from the shadows, she was at his side, cutting through tangled fabric with a knife she produced from her boot.

"I thought you said no weapons," he chuckled.

"I said no live ammunition." Her words came with a smirk and he found that his lips twisted also.

Because no matter what his gut told him, and what experience had taught, she was damn good at what she did.

He would not be human were he not in awe.

* * *

**_March 18 2010. 11:20pm._**

"Move!"

Claire jumped, and then she obeyed. Connolly's frustration was well-placed but annoying nonetheless.

'You're going to lose him,' she told herself. And then: 'How can you think about Leon at a time like this?'

But the truth was that he was always on her mind, always in every corner of her soul. And when she had seen him stop, seen him struggle and the guard approach, her blood ran cold. She was a split-second away from reacting, but of course, _she_ was faster. The man was kissing the concrete before Leon had even reached for his weapon.

"Watch it," Billy urged through her earpiece. "There are two guards near your position."

From their vantage point at the North-West corner, Chris and Billy could see their path while they were blinded. It was an uncomfortable position to be in, but there was simply no other way. How else would they provide cover for her brother in his mad dash for the freight elevator? Without running aimlessly around each floor of the facility, it was the only route straight to the cells. When Jill was secure, it did not matter if they were made, but until then it was imperative that they remained silent.

It was Chris and Billy who would pull her out, the others clearing the facility of hostiles so that removing her would be quick and stress-free. Connolly and Claire were to take the ground floor once her brother was safely in the elevator, with Leon and Ada taking the second and Rebecca and Gabriella taking the third.

'Ada also wants to retrieve data,' she sighed inwardly. 'Who is to say that she won't take off when she has it?'

"Pay attention!" Connolly hissed as he pulled her behind a stationary ambulance, silent as an oblivious guard strolled past. "Where's you head at, Red?"

It was a clear night, despite the silence that had fallen over the area. Even birds were absent from the trees. Perhaps it was the dogs? Would the tranquilisers take them down also? The suppressors that the guards each seemed to possess would silence any shots fired at them, but the ravenous snarls of a Rottweiler were far too conspicuous.

'Would Ada be so fast against a dog? Is Leon truly safe with her? What am I thinking? Of course he's safe. He's happy too...happy with her.'

The pain came as a flash, hitting her like a tiny pellet that thrust spikes into her flesh. She had not heard the shot, had not even seen the guard, but she felt it. She felt every millimetre of the bullet.

Connolly was quick to react, and the thud of a body preceded her own, blood drawn from her lip as she bit down hard to suppress a scream. There was more blood, spattered up her neck and against her cheek. The bulletproof vest that she wore was useless; missed by millimetres, it allowed the bullet to sink deep, to carve pain through what seemed to be her entire chest.

"Claire!"

Chris's voice was not distorted by the whine of the earpiece, and when Connolly's hand pressed to the wound in her shoulder, two more found her. The worry in his eyes was enough to break her heart, but she sucked in the pain, gritting her teeth against it.

"She's okay," the medic assured them. "Vests don't spread to the shoulders because a shot there is rarely life-threatening. But we need to get you back to a hospital, Claire; I'm afraid it's over for you."

Of course it would be. And she did not protest. Her mind was evidently not where it should be; she was a liability and if she somehow thwarted their last chance to bring Jill home, she would never forgive herself.

"Go," she begged, pushing Chris's hand from her cheek. "You...have to find...her."

Speaking was once a habit, but now a chore. Every breath seemed to tug at the skin of her shoulder, seemed to pull the wound to painful extremes.

"Don't you...dare argue!" she hissed. Because she could see the conflict behind his eyes, could see the hole the bullet had carved in his heart. "I'm fine...Jill's not. Go get her!"

"I'll take her to the ambulance," Connolly explained, a plea heard upon his voice. And then he pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Alej, I need you to take it from there."

"Why can't...wounds be...like in the movies?" she chuckled. One shot barely swayed an action hero, but she could not even conceive the idea of continuing with the inferno that her shoulder had become. Ever movement introduced a new form of pain, to the point where all that she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hope that it faded.

Guilt at occupying a precious ambulance faded as she realised that they were surrounded by the things; thanks to Jill's tutelage, they all knew how to hotwire a vehicle.

"Find Jill," she begged Chris as he rose. "Bring her back...please."

* * *

**_March 18 2010. 11:40pm._**

Every so often, Billy's voice would echo in her ear, informing the others of their progress. It felt surreal to her to even hear it at all. The man who had haunted her dreams was here in the flesh. And what she had felt for him in those moments of fiction, it remained, and she could feel her heart somersault in her chest every time he spoke her name.

Rebecca smirked to herself as she dashed down the hallway, quiet by nature. Gabriella was equally as silent, and perhaps more skilled than she. It was difficult to believe that she was merely nineteen years old; when she was so young, she was still filled with fear and incompetence. She could dress a wound, but she could barely hold her own in a fight. Chris had always told her that her strengths lay elsewhere; that she was more intelligent than the rest of the team put together. But intelligence only took her so far.

Slowly, they came to a halt, tired legs begging for rest.

"It's a lot bigger than it looks from outside," Gabriella noted, slipping a fresh dart into her gun. She had already taken down three guards; Rebecca had hit only two, and one of them had been by accident. "And I would hardly say that it's 'lightly guarded'."

"We're managing alright," she chuckled quietly.

The third floor seemed larger than anticipated purely by the design of the labs. There was no hallway that led directly from one end to the other; to reach the freight elevator where Billy and Chris would be entering, they were required to traverse the many rooms between the two points. Exactly why baffled them both; the corridor they strolled down ran almost the entire length of the facility, it simply lacked the doors to transport them from one end to the other.

'At least the majority of the staff have returned home,' she realised. At night, it appeared that the labs relied on a skeleton crew.

"So what's the story with you and Billy?" Gabriella asked playfully.

Rebecca almost jumped in fright, blushing furiously. The truth was that she had barely been given the opportunity to talk to him since his timely arrival. If Ada or Chris were not interrogating him, she was shying away, too afraid to speak up. Every time she looked at him, her cheeks burned and every ounce of the intelligence that she was praised for seemed to evaporate. Quite simply, he made her feel like a shy little girl.

"No story."

The chuckle brought sarcasm to her expression and she turned sharply, tapping the loaded dart gun against her hip.

"Oh, what?" she goaded. "You're a _teenager_; you couldn't possibly understand the complexity of adult relationships."

"I understand it enough to know that you're into him. Rebecca, why are you denying yourself obvious happiness? After all you've been through, don't you deserve this?"

It was hardly an appropriate conversation for the moment, but the area had been cleared and there was little left for them to do but wait for Chris's signal.

How could she deny the accusation when it touched upon the truth? She could deny it all she wanted, but the false news of Billy's death had brought her to realise just how much she cared about him. Where she had once believed that it was merely false emotion brought on by news of his death, there was little denying it now. What she had felt back then was now only stronger in his presence.

"I can't be 'into him'," she sighed, leaning against the window ledge. "One night isn't enough to create feelings like this. I barely know him!"

Gabriella smiled as she placed a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Then maybe this is how you know it's the real thing?"

Rebecca felt that she was right. It did not matter that Jill's feelings for Chris or Claire's for Leon had developed over many years; they were not the type to fall in love easily. She had dated many men, and had not felt love towards any of them after many months and many more romantic gestures. She could never force herself to feel anything for anyone, and time only eroded what was initially there.

Ever since she was a young girl, she had dreamt of falling head over heels in love...and now, perhaps it had happened of its own accord.

"Did you hear that?"

It was barely a sound, but evidently something that should concern them. The skittering of talons against tile; a sound that still brought fear to her heart after so many years.

But it was not talons, merely the nails of three large Rottweiler, teeth bared, posture menacing.

"Zombie dogs?" Gabriella asked, voice trembling.

"No," Rebecca answered. "But they're probably just as dangerous."

Two darts sped in the pack's direction, one falling short, another catching the foremost dog as it rushed towards them.

One dart, an eternity to reload; the weapons were almost useless. Before she could reach for another dart, paws slammed into her and the gun clattered across the floor. An injured yelp was heard somewhere in the distance, and her hand rose to catch the neck of the snarling mutt, desperately holding its jaws away. Claws dug into her vest, scraping shallow lines into the stiff material. Its breath was overpowering, its strength more than her arms could bear. But then with a whimper its body sagged, the remnants of a dart touching her arm as it dislodged.

"Run!" Gabriella urged her, eyes on the one dog that remained. But the younger girl was more agile than she, was further out of the range of the mutt.

Barely able to load her weapon, Rebecca turned, but it was too late. Snarling, it pounced...and she fell to the ground.

For a girl of nineteen, Gabriella possessed great strength. In one swift move, she had gripped the older woman's vest, hurled her to the side.

Sense had barely returned to her when a startled gasp reached her ears. As strong legs pushed against Gabriella's shoulders, the window ledge touched upon her thigh. The contact was minimal, but it was more than enough to throw her off balance. Glass shattered, and Rebecca moved but she was not fast enough. Desperate fingers grasped nothing but air, the girl's scream tearing through her.

She felt the jolt as she hit the ground, the mutt sprawled lifelessly beside her.

"Gabriella!" she called through her earpiece.

Nothing.

She did not move, not even to push herself to her feet. There was no blood, but there did not need to be; a fall of such nature, from this height...

The mission abandoned her, and with little thought other than that of her wounded comrade, Rebecca ran.

* * *

**_March 19, 2010. 0:05am._**

For a man with a powerful degree of emotional attachment to the mission at hand, Chris remained surprisingly composed. Billy had not seen such unwavering dedication in so many years.

There were times when he had wondered just what kind of man Jill's fiancé was. She was strong-willed, stubborn and the fire that raged in her soul was a positive inferno. For most men, that was too much work. Strong women were threatening to a man's ego, and they were too much work for some. But somehow, he could not see Chris with a damsel in distress; their personalities gelled in the most wonderful way.

The guards that chattered in the room across the hall showed no signs of moving. If they were to dart out from their current position, they would be made immediately. Simply put, there was nothing that they could do but wait.

"I can't believe we've made it this far," Chris breathed. Tension radiated from him, but it appeared that he was not so tightly-wound that he could not speak.

"We'll make it all the way," he assured him quietly. "Though I gotta admit, it's a little strange being back in this place. I just hope she's still here."

Once again, silence.

It was evident in everything he did that Chris cared deeply for her.

'This is what you have been missing by closing yourself off,' he reminded himself. 'Who were you trying to fool? It was for nobody's benefit but your own.'

And what of Rebecca? What of his 'silly little crush'? Was that what it was, even after all these years? Or was it something more? Was this burning in his gut a sign of repressed emotions?

He had never felt so much joy as he had in those moments spent simply holding her, despite all that had been on his mind. And hearing her voice, feeling the softness of her hair upon his cheek...nothing compared to it. He had always known that she was something special.

'But she deserves so much more than you,' he told himself. 'You're eight years her senior and what can you offer her? Nothing. You have no home, no job...you barely have a life.'

"You're going to make a move with Rebecca once this is over, right?" Chris asked. It would appear that his distracted expression betrayed his thoughts. "Come on, I've seen the way you look at her. And the way she looks at you? She's like a love struck puppy. It's been a long time since I've seen her so happy."

Amused, Billy smiled wryly.

"You want me to ask her out?"

"I want her to be happy," Chris told him with a smile of his own. "Don't do it for the sake of it. She's stronger than she looks but her heart is still fragile. If you like her, don't hide it."

But hiding was what he did best. He hid every inch of himself to such an extent that he wasn't even sure who he was anymore.

"We need to focus on finding Jill first," he resolved. "She misses you like crazy."

"Thank you," Chris said, so suddenly that he barely caught it. "For being there for her."

What exactly had he done for her? False hope was all he had offered, and on the one chance he had to prove that hope still existed, he had failed to free her.

'She never would have made it,' he recalled. The guards had chased him throughout the complex and out into the surrounding trees. One bullet had pierced his skin, another grazing his shoulder. Nature had provided its own resistance and put simply, he was a mess by the time he made it to safety. He could not remember the instant that he lost consciousness, only the fear that set in when he awoke in a hospital bed. Jill would not have made it to the fence.

"I think she did more for me than I did for her," he admitted. "If it wasn't for her, I would probably still be in that cell."

Movement outside drew their attention and they ceased their hushed conversation. The guards stepped out into the hallway, two heading in one direction, the third in another. Billy paused for a moment to plot a route in his mind's eye, hoping that his memory served him as it should and that they were indeed on the right track.

"We take the two," he whispered. "The cells should be in that direction, we can take their keys."

With a nod, Chris dashed out ahead of him.

The final stretch; a goal in sight. It was too late for mistakes.

* * *

**_March 19, 2010. 0:15am._**

Jill knew that screaming would not help, but she was sure with every contraction that the next would bring forth the sound that would betray her condition. And then it ripped through her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, voice caught in her throat for the duration of the agony.

Squashed in the corner of her tiny bathroom, she felt utterly helpless. When the pain ebbed, she gasped, cried out as quietly as she could, the strangled sound perhaps the most pitiful she had ever made.

'They're going to find me. They're going to find me and they're going to take her. Oh God, I don't know how much longer I can hold on.'

This should have been a joyous moment, but all that she could focus on was the pain, and the very real possibility that she would be delivering her daughter herself, on the floor of her cell's pitiful excuse for a bathroom.

"This isn't fair!" she cried. Because her daughter deserved more than this. All of the promises that she made would fall through. The wonderful life that she had promised would be little more than an unobtainable dream to her.

Anger overwhelmed her, stealing words that she wanted to speak before they were separated. She had not even told the girl her name. Would they listen if she requested that it be kept? Or would they give her some generic name from a book, not one chosen with love and bestowed with the best intentions?

There had never been a sound more terrifying to her ears than that of the lock, of the scrape of a turning key. Though she wiped her tears away, more fell and composing herself simply was not an option. She could claim that her tears were those of loneliness or fear, but hiding a contraction would be impossible. Doubled over in pain, there would only be one explanation for her posture. They would take her away, would strap her down as they delivered and they would steal her baby before she could hold her.

She pulled herself to her feet as the door creaked open, cried against the wall. It was a sorry state that she found herself in, but she was feral, prepared to fight, as inevitable as her fate seemed.

"Where is she?"

Jill froze.

'That voice...'

The guards would search, they would not speak. And this voice was familiar, pleasantly so.

"No...no! She should _be_ here!"

"Then why-?"

"Chris?" she gasped. But it couldn't be... Her mind was playing tricks on her again, lulling her into a false sense of security.

She gripped the door for support as she pushed it open, unable to remain upright any other way. It was Billy that she found first, breathless by the door. It was impossible...her mind would not accept the scene that lay before her.

Because Chris stared back, as dumbstruck as she.

Had the pain drawn her into hallucinations? Or had she perhaps passed out, and this was merely a dream?

"Jill," he breathed. And with one word, she knew that he was not a figment of her imagination.

They both rushed forward, meeting in the middle in an embrace that choked every scrap of emotion from her. Her arms wound tightly around his neck, his clinging desperately to her. She could _smell_ him, buried her nose deeper into the curve of his neck. Every tear that she had shed returned, dripped down his skin. She could have stayed that way forever, lost in the crush of his embrace, feeling his fingers and his nose buried in her hair, feeling the love that he poured into her.

But eventually he pulled away, kissing along her cheek.

"Are you okay?" he wanted to know, gleeful eyes glistening. "Did they hurt you?"

"No," she replied, the word falling as a sob. "They didn't. Oh God, I missed you. I knew you'd come."

He seemed too shy to steal the kiss she knew that he longed for, so she made the move, sank into him as the world dissolved around her. The spark was still there, followed her trachea to her chest, flowered as warmth overcame her; as sorrow turned to happiness, fear to anticipation and loneliness to the wealth only family could provide. She had missed those lips, had missed everything about him.

And then it came again, and her fingers slipped from his hair, a cry escaping from lips that were otherwise occupied. She was thankful for the hands that gripped her, that prevented her from falling to the floor. Because the pain almost folded her in half this time, and though she could not speak to answer Chris's pleas, she cried out again, louder this time.

"Jill!" he begged. "Baby, what's wrong? Are you okay? Talk to me!"

Waiting for the ebb seemed to take an excruciatingly long time. All that she wanted to do was to reassure him that his fear was misplaced, that yes, she was in pain, but it was good pain and they would be celebrating soon.

"I'm fine," she gasped, gripping his shoulders to pull herself upright. "It's the baby...she's coming."

He seemed not to understand her words, and it was only Billy's call that snapped him from his reverie.

"We've found Jill, but she's in labour. We need a medic."

"It's okay!" she insisted, steadying her breathing. "I'll go to them. I just want to get out of here before it's too late. I'm not bringing our daughter into the world in this damn place."

With a chuckle, both men accepted her words.

"Okay," Chris sighed, smoothing back her blonde hair so that he could gently kiss her forehead. It was difficult not to see the joy in his eyes. "Here, put this on."

She protested as he slipped out of an armoured vest, but he was having none of it. It barely fastened around her girth but he secured it the best that he could, checking to ensure that it sat as it should upon her shoulders.

It was in that moment that she caught sight of a chain around his neck, her ring dangling against his chest. Dislodged as he slipped out of the protective gear, she assumed that it had previously been hidden, and it was not simply ignorance on her part that had hidden it from view. As he fussed over the fitting of the vest, she reached up and slipped the chain over his head, freeing the ring. And as she slipped it onto her finger, she felt comfort return, and for the briefest of moments forgot that she was perhaps minutes away from delivering their first child.

'It's back. He's back. It's going to be okay!'

"Come on," he ordered with a smile, sure to exit before her.

Running was not on the cards; she felt that if she even attempted to move faster than a well-paced waddle, the baby would pop right out of her. But as she held Chris's hand, his refusal to let go both irritating and endearing, she knew that all would be alright, that despite the panic of the last few weeks, she would give birth to her daughter in a hospital bed, attended to by staff who cared equally about herself and the child that she carried.

"Connolly's going to meet us half way," Billy explained hurriedly, finger pressed to his earpiece. "Leon and Ada are on their way too."

"Ada?"

"I'll explain later," Chris assured her. "Right now, we need to focus on getting out of here."

Footsteps echoed down the hallway behind them, and all three turned expectantly. But it was not Connolly who turned the corner, was not even Leon. She recognised the guard as the one she and Billy had beaten, the one who used to escort her on walks or to the labs.

Both men raised their weapons, and so too did the guard. Perhaps a little too forcefully, Chris pushed her behind him, and she reached to grip his T-shirt as her balance became unsteady. Four shots were fired, and blood splashed against her arm. In the distance, she heard the guard hit the floor as Chris dropped his dart gun, the clattering too loud for her ears.

The terror of the moment swept through her, anxiety threatening to reduce her to tears once again.

"Fuck!" Billy seethed, pressing a hand to his wounded arm. "Right through the damn tattoo. It's never gonna look the same now."

She did not bother to ask how he was; evidently, he was not so injured that he could not joke. If Rebecca was with them, she could fix him up in no time.

"Let's go," she urged, swallowing relief. The sooner they were out of this place, the better. She could not relax while they remained so far from home.

Reaching around to turn her fiancé in the direction that led to freedom, she closed her eyes, hoping that there were no more guards lurking. She did not know how many more surprises she could take, and from the state of Chris's breathing, she could tell that it was a sentiment that he shared.

Moisture slicked up her palm as soon as it made contact with his abdomen. Warm, thick...by instinct she pulled her hand back. Crimson.

"Oh God," Billy breathed, voice trembling.

Time seemed to slow, sound draining from the moment. The vest felt heavy on her shoulders, blood so vibrant against her skin. Billy caught Chris as he fell, and a scream brought her to her knees at his side. There was blood on the floor now, bringing a squeak to the tiles as Billy's foot slipped and sound rushed back with a deafening roar. No matter where she looked, there was blood. It seeped through the leg of his fatigues, through the thin fabric of his T-shirt; he wore black but still, she could see each wound as they glistened beneath harsh lighting.

"Chris!" she cried, heart catching up with a dumbstruck mind. It was little more than a whimper, but he turned to her, an expression of shock upon his features.

"Medic!" Billy screamed into his earpiece. "Chris has been shot, we need help!"

Even as he applied pressure, the wounds continued to bleed. Jill choked on threatening grief, barely able to breathe as she reached for her lover's cheeks, sobbing uncontrollably as blood spotted against pale lips with a cough.

He did not cry out in pain, did not even struggle. It was as though the impact had stolen everything, and he could do nothing but watch on in horror as he slowly bled out.

"Chris!" she begged, pressing her forehead to his, barely feeling the tears that streamed down her cheeks. "Don't leave us."

It was a silly sentiment, but it was all that rushed to her mind. Four bullets had been sent in their direction; one had grazed Billy, and the rest were buried in the body that she curled into every night, the body that had given her the daughter that would be with them soon. They may as well have pierced her heart.

"Please," she sobbed. "I love you. You have to hold on!"

Footsteps thundered towards them again, and Connolly skidded across the floor, falling to Chris's side. There were more, but another contraction came and she held nothing back this time, cried from pain both old and new. And then arms hooked beneath hers, dragged her away. Chris's eyelids drooped as his head tilted to the side, and she screamed louder, struggling against a strong hold.

With the ebb this time came a curious sensation, and she felt the gush against her thighs.

"Shit, shit, shit!" cried a voice she barely recognised as Leon's. "Rebecca, her waters just broke. I'm bringing her down; I need you to meet me at the elevator."

"No!" she screamed. "Put me down!"

But he would not listen, and with strength she would not have expected from him – she weighed an awful lot these days – Leon hauled her into his arms.

With no strength left in her body, she allowed her head to roll against his shoulder, tears drying for no other reason than she had cried too many.

And together, they left the night behind.

**AN – Please review :).**


	21. Hope, and All It Has Given Us

**AN - **The block seems to be back so I'm both pleased and surprised that I managed to get this chapter out within two weeks. This chapter was a lot harder to write than I thought it would be. The quote is from 'Into the Light' by In This Moment.

Last chapter was the most reviewed of the story: thank you all so much! _IntangibleHope, Ninja-Gnome, Skiptrix, x-Artichoke-x, Raidenlover6, Kenshin13, ebonyxivory777, tek, Chocolate milkahhh, USWeasilgirl, C. Redfield, Xhian, Metalmark, EntityDancer, Kimmy, xSummonerYunax, Alavon, _and _Gunslinger Nurse_: thank you! Life in general has been pretty much sucky lately so I really appreciate the smile you all have put on my face ^_^.

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Twenty_**_- Hope, and All It Has Given Us_

_'Can anybody tell me why we're lying here on the floor,_  
_and neither of us can barely breathe at all?'  
_~In This Moment~

**_March 19 2010, 7:00am. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

How many hours of sleep had she found? Jill was not sure. The hours were unimportant, though she knew that so few had passed since her rescue. It was only overwhelming exhaustion that had pulled her into the few that she had found, into a sleep so deep and dreamless that she was dismayed to wake from it at all.

But she did wake, and to what? To that numbness in her chest, to the ring that weighed heavily upon her finger and the absence of the man that she loved? How could she appreciate any of that?

The truth was that emotion had not woken with her. Her heart felt as a vacuum and no matter how much she dwelled on recent events or on future possibilities, she remained stone cold stoic. Quite simply, she felt nothing.

Movement against her chest drew wandering attention, called her eyes away from the window.

No, not nothing. Because when she looked down into the eyes of her daughter, there was not a single emotion that did not pound against her. Whatever lingered out there, whatever her heart shielded her from, one look into those big blue eyes was enough to bathe her in happiness so profound that she simply could not bring herself to look away.

She was seven pounds and six ounces of pure perfection. Healthy, alert, with thin brunette hair that Jill was sure matched her natural colour. She had fallen in love the moment the baby was placed against her chest, the moment she felt warm, wet skin against her own. And that wrinkly little wonder became her whole world the instant their eyes locked. Love, like she had never known it before.

It was a blessing that she remained blissfully unaware of the carnage that surrounded her birth. Oblivious, all that she cared about were her mother's eyes...and her breasts.

"You're a hungry little girl, aren't you?" she chuckled. The sensation of breastfeeding was still so new to her, but the girl was already a pro.

The midwife was expected, so she did not turn when she heard footsteps. Who else would it be? The others were far too preoccupied. And it suited her well; beneath the fascination with her newborn and the troubling numbness in her chest, she felt the powerful desire to be alone.

"Okay," Dr. Bailey announced in her joyful tone. "Are we ready to-? Oh, we already are."

She laughed softly as she lowered herself to the bed at Jill's side, checking her progress.

"I wish all mothers took to breastfeeding so easily," she said quietly with a smile. "How are you both faring?"

With a snuffle, the baby decided that she was done, and Jill carefully lifted her onto her chest, chin on the towel she had placed on her shoulder in preparation, and gently patted her back. The midwife smiled again, apparently pleased with what she saw.

"She's doing great," she told her. "I think she has her father's appetite."

The black ball of emotion dropped, leaking its poison into her veins. For a moment, she feared that she would choke. And then it faded, but a bitter taste remained. Whatever it held, whatever remained hidden from her, she sensed that it was something she did not wish to experience.

The midwife's expression turned grim, and she placed a hand on her shoulder, reassuring warmth barely registering as a sensation.

"I know that things aren't easy for you right now," Dr. Bailey admitted softly. "But we are here to help, however you need us. You look exhausted, Jill; I can take her to the nursery for a little while so that you can get some rest."

Rest sounded good. But she knew that she could not leave the girl. How could she, after all that had happened? It was only the BSAA-employed guard at her door - an old, trusted friend - that provided the comfort she required to relax in the private room she had been allocated. With her daughter out of reach in the nursery, how could she be safe?

The baby blinked up at her mother, barely able to keep her eyes open but too fascinated with the world around her to succumb to sleep just yet. And she was silent, save for the occasional snuffle.

"If you don't want to leave her, I can find one of your friends to stay with her."

Realistically, Jill knew that Tricell would be reckless to attempt anything now. She had been rushed to the delivery room upon arrival, and when she was taken to her post-delivery room roughly an hour later, the BSAA were already in place; she had not expected them to act so quickly, nor to take such a personal interest in her safety.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Barry waited patiently for an invitation to enter.

"They want to take her to the nursery," she told him. "So that I can rest. Will you...will you go with her? I'm scared to leave her, but..."

With a solemn nod, the deal was made. The girl made no fuss as she was placed into the midwife's arms, simply watched as the world rushed by.

"I'll see you again soon," she assured her, with a soft kiss to a chubby cheek. "Mommy needs to rest...but she'll be thinking about you. I love you."

Her eyes followed them as they left, and already she missed her terribly. But exhaustion was bad for both mother and baby, and the thought of a simple opportunity to lie down, knowing that there was someone to attend to her daughter's needs if they presented, seemed heavenly.

Until thoughts trickled back, with their claws and destructive intentions. Whatever had been holding them back appeared to have followed the girl to the nursery, leaving her mother defenceless.

Because now, she was simply alone. Claire had been shot, or so she had been told, and rested in a room of her own, sedated 'for her own good'. Rebecca had done enough, there to hold her hand throughout the end of labour and the first hour of motherhood; she only hoped that she had taken her advice of sleeping while she could. She did not know where the others were, save for Connolly, whom she had found slumped in the chair at her bedside when she woke - she had ordered him to return home to his family. And Chris...

Her hands trembled as she reached for the glass of water, though it did little more than soothe her throat. In many ways she felt a mess, and not simply emotionally. To the unknowing eye, she looked pregnant still, and she had not dared to glance at her naked self in the mirror, knowing that what she saw would not be pleasant. Somehow, none of it mattered with the baby around, but in her absence the glory of motherhood made way for the reality of exactly what her body had been through.

The angry clack of low heels sounded outside her door, ceasing suddenly at its loudest. Turning swiftly, she barely recognised Alejandra, lacking makeup with her naturally curled hair scraped back into a loose ponytail.

"Where is he?" she demanded, so incensed she may as well have been foaming at the mouth. "Where is Chris?"

The words that Jill prepared caught in her throat, heart throbbing against the reality it would not let her force out. But still, she felt hollow, felt the nothingness that was beginning to irritate her.

"I...I heard about what happened to Gabriella," she muttered, not quite sure what to say. "Alejandra, I'm so sorry."

Taking steps towards her, Alejandra raised a threatening finger, spoke through gritted teeth.

"He is the one who should be sorry!" Her natural accent peeked through, so potent was her fury. "She is nineteen years old! Nineteen! And they tell me my baby girl may never walk again! They say she will be lucky if she can even move her legs!"

The black ball cracked, and out leaked hurt, defensiveness, and the desire to move as far away from this tirade as she could.

"He said that he would look after her! He said that she would be alright! Her back is broken; a rib, her shoulder... How could he let this happen?"

"Alejandra, she is a competent girl," she seethed, unable to steady her breathing. "Unless Chris dealt the injuries himself, I don't see-"

"Well of course you wouldn't!" Alejandra growled. "You are always defending him."

Lips curling now, Jill stepped forward, challenging her behaviour. She was only protecting her child, finding someone to blame for her mishap; Jill was quite sure that she would have done the same had she been in her position. But her heart could barely tolerate an argument, let alone accusations against Chris. After all that he had done...

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"He needs to stand up to responsibility! He was so consumed with finding you that he didn't care what the cost. So tell me-"

And just like that, the ball shattered, and the dark remnants of Pandora's Box gushed forth, washed over her until all became dark and the air itself tasted like blood in her mouth.

"You selfish bitch!" she screamed. The words tumbled forth of their own accord, Jill Valentine lost somewhere in shadow as a demon grasped the reins. "You were there too! You were hiding in a God damn van, yet you have the _audacity_ to suggest that he is incompetent? How dare you! He cares about others, and taking a bullet for someone is not a metaphor in his eyes!"

The tears blurred her vision, her voice little more than a heightened sob. The loneliness, the grief; everything that had hidden itself from her hit in one fell swoop that almost knocked her off her feet. Alejandra stumbled back from the force of her outburst, shock and horror falling into her expression. But she moved with her, thrusting her palms against her chest, almost knocking her off her feet.

"If it weren't for Chris, I would be dead and our baby..." The lack of challenge that she faced only spurred her on, brought clenched hands to the collar of the woman's blouse. "He thought about _everyone_ before himself, so don't you dare suggest that- Don't...don't you _dare_!"

Her grip loosened, so when strong hands pulled her back, she relinquished Alejandra's blouse with ease, but kicked against restraint.

"If you want to find him, why don't you check the God damn _morgue_?" she screamed, the words like razor blades to her larynx. Intention fell short of perception, and her body finally ceased its struggle. "You care so much about Gabriella, but what is going to happen to _my_ baby girl?"

The guilt in Alejandra's eyes brought a sick sense of satisfaction. Rebecca held out a hand, signalling at her to leave; Jill had not even noticed that she had entered the room. A tattoo on one of the arms that held her confirmed the identity of the second person, and Billy let her go as soon as the room was empty one again and the door had closed.

Rebecca's arms found her instantly, and she was sure that she would have tumbled to the cold, hard floor had they not.

"Why did I say that?" she muttered. And they were the last words that she spoke before the torrent of tears weakened her, and every inch of her body and soul ached for the absent man. She was so sure that he would have been at her bedside when she woke, that his injuries weren't as severe as they had seemed. But they were. And what hurt the most was the knowledge that their daughter did not even miss him as she did; how could she, when she did not know him?

"Let it all out," Rebecca urged, guiding her over to the bed.

The void that had once resided in her chest now seemed to swallow her whole. And try as she might, she could not find comfort in her friend's embrace. She needed Chris in every possible way. The absence of his daughter was suddenly painfully obvious, and she was overcome by the need to hold her, to cling to the closest thing she had to him.

"I need...I need to see her," she cried. "My baby, I need-"

"She's in the nursery?"

Unable to choke out a response, she nodded, rubbing at tear-filled eyes. And suddenly, the embrace became tighter.

"Okay," Rebecca whispered. "We'll take you, but after we go for some fresh air, okay? I think you need it."

* * *

**_March 19 2010, 7:20am. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

He waited for the sedatives to wear off, patiently, as she would have done for him.

Who was he kidding? Claire Redfield was never patient. But Leon waited still, every nail gnawed down to the flesh. He had not slept since the delivery of the news, though the others had told him to. So much had happened, so much had gone wrong. His mind simply would not shut off.

He pleaded ignorance where Chris was concerned, knowing the overview but not the details. It was easier this way, and avoided the questions that everyone seemed desperate to ask. Gabriella was still in surgery when he had left, and Jill had delivered a healthy baby girl. The baby was the one ray of light through the carnage, but it had quickly lost its sheen in his eyes when he heard of Claire's injury.

She was sedated when he had visited earlier, fast asleep and oblivious to his presence. For a shoulder injury, the doctors claimed that she was lucky. The shot appeared to have been fired from quite a distance away, so the velocity of the bullet was far less than a close-range shot would have pitted her against. The majority of the damage appeared to be muscular, and that which had been dealt to nerves was nothing that wouldn't heal itself. But damage to the bone, however minor it was, would mean that her stay was not an overnight one and that she was looking at months of recovery and not merely weeks.

'It could have been worse,' he reminded himself. 'Much worse.' He had seen men die from wounds that differed barely an inch from hers.

She was awake this time when he stepped into the room. Her shoulder was heavily bandaged, a sling keeping her arm to her chest. And fear that he had hoped would dissipate upon seeing her blossomed.

"How are you feeling?"

Claire glanced at her arm and then back to him, unfounded hostility evident in her eyes.

"Nothing," she told him. "I am feeling...just nothing. I don't know what they gave me, but I can't even feel my ass. Then again, maybe I _am_ the ass."

Leon blinked, attempting to make sense of her words. And then he was at her side, reaching for a hand that she pulled away as his fingers drew near. All that he wanted to do was to hold her, to dispel the fear that he had felt the moment he had heard of her injury, and that which he knew she must have felt beneath the sedation. He wanted to assure her that everything would be okay, to reiterate the doctor's words.

"I shouldn't have been there," she muttered through what he assumed was a drug-induced haze. "I got distracted. Everything could have fallen apart, and Jill..."

She sniffed back tears at the thought, using a nearby tissue to dab at dry eyes.

"She's okay," he reassured her. Somewhere in the rush, he had forgotten that she had missed all that had transpired. "We found her, and she has given birth to a healthy, beautiful baby girl."

At these words, her eyes darted to his, searched for truth behind what she assumed was a lie. He knew how much this baby meant to her, how she had waited on her birth with almost as much excitement as the parents themselves.

"You're an aunt, Claire," he emphasised with a smile.

She did not stop the tears that fell now, and grinned through them, her smile touching his heart. Because all he wanted was to see her smile.

"Take me to see her!" she pleaded. "I want to see Jill, and...I want to see my niece. Did- Did they name her yet? Chris told me they-"

Chuckling to himself, he pressed a finger to her lips, smile lingering.

"You've been shot, Claire. You may have been lucky, but it is still a serious injury. If you don't stay in bed, the doctors will strap you to it."

He would have done anything to chase away the sadness in her eyes, but her health took priority and he was not about to facilitate a move that could aggravate her injury.

"Then bring Chris," she sighed, agreeing to compromise. "He must be so happy. I want to see him."

And just like that, the smile vanished. Was this the turn that fate would take? That he would be the one to deliver the news? Keeping it from Jill had been hard enough, and the sickening realisation that had dawned upon her at his refusal to speak had almost brought him to his knees.

"Leon? What- What is it? What's wrong?"

There was no lying, not this time; she had already sensed that something was amiss, and the truth would not stay hidden for long.

"There...there was an incident," he admitted, ashamed that it was all his heart felt capable to offer. "Chris was...he was shot, Claire."

Eyes were torn from his once again, and she looked to her shoulder, looked to the IV that he assumed kept her blissfully free of pain.

"I was shot," she muttered. "I was shot, and I'm okay. Is he just avoiding me? Leon, if he wants to spend time with his daughter, you can tell me! I will understand."

He only wished that it was as simple as that. She had been lucky, and Chris had too...but not lucky enough. He was the reason every single one of them was here at the hospital so early, why none of them had slept and every thought attended to him and to his child and his fiancée.

The silence spoke volumes, but the need to explain prevailed.

"He was shot three times." The words felt surreal, even as he spoke them. "There was a lot of damage to his lung and...he lost a lot of blood-"

Tears turned virulent once again, and he could not find the strength to continue. She refused the hand that he offered, shoulders shaking from the force of her sorrow.

"Claire, he-" he attempted to explain, hoping that reassurance would calm her. But she sobbed louder now, raised a hand towards him.

"Just get out of here," she demanded tearfully. "Just leave me alone."

It was not in his nature to simply walk away, but her determination became physical, and with strength that should not have been possible under the influence, she pushed against him.

"Get out!"

And his legs carried him away. Evidently, his presence upset her, and his heart would not allow stubbornness to prevail.

He waited outside of the door, watching through the window. Already, he could see her thought process, could see the threads of possibility that linked her injury to Chris's fate. It was not her fault, but he knew how her mind worked. In the wake of Jill's disappearance, Chris had found a thousand different ways to blame himself for her supposed death. It had taken the combined effort of all of his friends to snap him out of his stupor, and even then had had fled to parts unknown, pouring himself into his work only to resurface two years later with a blonde Jill in tow and news of a thwarted apocalypse. Claire had more in common with her brother than she liked to admit. Because they were close, were friends as well as family.

Jill startled him with her approach, quiet in a deliberate manner. The baby in her arms was silent too, and wide awake.

"She wouldn't sleep in the nursery," she explained. "So I thought I'd...introduce her to her aunt while she was awake. How is she?"

They were all too afraid to speak Chris's name around her, but without it he felt unable to explain. And then her eyes darted to her child, grip tightening.

"She knows," she acknowledged quietly. There was very little hope in her voice; only silent mourning, and feigned strength that he could see right through. But she would never admit to what she felt, not now. She may have fooled herself and the others, but he understood just where her thoughts led her. It was no longer about her, but about the tiny bundle in her arms, about the girl who stared silently at the world.

"How are you holding up?"

"About ten minutes ago, I assaulted Alejandra," she said, angry at herself. "She was angry because of Gabriella's...because of what happened to her. I shouldn't have done that! I'm a mother now and...and trust me, I know how she feels."

She moved a hand to swat away a tear, but it returned to her child a moment later, comfort exchanged between the two.

"One minute, I feel nothing and the next, I'm exploding. I...I don't know what I'm going to do, Leon. I can't do this alone! Look at her! I'm not enough. I can barely keep myself together; how am I supposed to give her the life that she deserves?"

The pessimism that dripped from her words frightened him, and he reached for her, pulling her into his side. Nothing could change what had happened, but at least he could be there for her; they all could.

"Whatever happens, you are not going to go through this alone," he assured her, feeling her accept his embrace. "You have us, and we won't let you struggle. We will help you until things get better."

"And what if they don't?"

It was amazing how one question could steal every reassurance left within him. There was simply nothing that remained to be said, nothing that could deny her words. Because from the current vantage point, it seemed that the only path led downhill, and stretched into a black abyss.

* * *

**_March 19 2010, 8:00am. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Billy found her by the window, her eyes troubled by the view. He did not know the Romero-Stockard family and felt that he never truly would. Even so, the sight before him caused his stomach to lurch in a painfully unpleasant way.

A young girl, unmoving on the bed, her parents and young brother embracing each other at her side.

"She fractured her spine," Rebecca explained, chewing on her bottom lip. "She can't feel or move anything below the waist. They said she'd be lucky ever to again."

He did not need to see her tears to know that she was crying. Somehow, he felt every silent sob like a knife to the chest. With withheld breath, he pulled her to him, away from the scene before her and into his arms. He did not have much to offer, but at the very least he could give a little warmth and whatever comfort she may find in that.

"I should have been paying more attention," she lamented. "If-"

"Don't," he warned. "'If' is an awful word. You can't change the past. Bad things happen, usually to good people; that's just the way it is. All we can do is keep on living despite it all. If we start blaming ourselves, that is where we fail."

The words seemed to spring forth of their own accord, but he knew that they spoke truth.

"You didn't get any sleep last night, did you?"

She shook her head gently as she moved back, swiping at her eyes with a closed fist. They had both spent the night in the on call room, too exhausted to make the journey home. Truth be told, there was nowhere else for him to go. The apartment in Richmond was too far, and who knew if it still remained? A short-term lease and little possessions made it only to easy to rent the place out to another in his absence.

Jill had been kind enough to allow him to stay at her house the coming night, in exchange for a ride home when they discharged her the next morning. And as she handed over Chris's key, kept safe by Barry, she had asked rather meekly if he wouldn't mind staying a little while longer. The question came in the form of an offer of a roof over his head, just until he found his feet. But he saw through her hollow words, knew that she was afraid of being alone.

"Have you been to see Chris yet?" he asked.

For the briefest of moments, she held her breath, looked to the tiled floor.

"I...I can't," she muttered. "I tried, but...I thought I was going to vomit. It just...didn't seem right. I mean, to go from consoling his fiancée and holding his child to... I can't do that, Billy."

The words seemed to shame her, and she hugged her body tightly, as though guarding against stomach cramps. She cared too much, took on the burdens of those around her even if all it offered them was a brief moment of relief.

'It's...beautiful.'

"The last time I saw him, he was covered in blood." She seemed to speak to herself, but it appeared to bring her great comfort to narrate the facts. "And...the chest wound. You saw it...you _heard_ it. It's obvious that he was suffering from a collapsed lung and he was in shock. I just...I can't imagine the _pain_ he must have suffered."

"Stop it!" he demanded. Whether it was for his own benefit or hers, he did not know. The fact of the matter was that he barely knew Chris, and yet somehow her words came as repeated blows to the gut.

Perhaps it was because of Jill, and the way she would stare off into the distance, eyes empty. Or maybe it was the baby; the beautiful girl that she refused to name without the father.

"Rebecca, we...we need to stop doing this."

It was all that he felt he could offer, all that he dared say. What right did he have to talk of her friends? He did not know them, did not feel for them as she did. Whatever words he offered, they would all be hollow.

And so, he reached for her again, held her close.

His heart beat faster when she was near him and somehow the world melted away around them. The years had changed her, and they had not been kind. But she was, and all the shit that she had been through seemed to have brought out the best in her, reinforcing all that the enemy had set to destroy. She may be disillusioned, and she may have felt weak and meaningless, but in his eyes she was damn near perfect; a diamond, trodden into the dirt. All she needed was someone to treat her the way that she deserved.

"Just so you know," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. Not as long as you still need me."

'I've spent so long chasing some missing part of my life. Now I know...it's _her_.'

* * *

**_March 19 2010, 8:15am. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

She followed him, all the way from Claire's room to her brother's. And Ada watched, silent as he muttered words to the still form, as he whispered apologies, and a promise to take care of the family that had not yet found the courage to visit. They were both equally pale, equally breathless. The importance of semantics never ceased to disturb her.

"I promised that I would be honest with Claire. You know that I love her-"

Curiosity was potent, but morality held greater sway over her these days. These were not words that were meant for her ears.

With one last glance towards the remnants of Chris Redfield, she moved further down the hallway, out of earshot.

'And why are you here at all?'

Frowning, she failed to find reason. She had all that they needed, and Jill was home safe. And now, she watched as hope slipped through her fingers.

Leon and Claire's relationship had been far from happy, their bickering annoying her almost to desertion. But somewhere beneath that thick skin, hope blossomed, and the love she had denied for so long, that he had destroyed along with her letter, blossomed once again. She had never truly believed that he had loved Claire, had assumed that their relationship was casual and nothing more.

Cold, she may have been, and manipulative to boot, but true happiness was so rarely found these days, and she was not one to destroy what should be nourished.

'They are going to part ways regardless,' she assumed. 'So much has happened...'

Try as she might, she could not push images of Chris from her mind. Her own knowledge of field medicine had brought her to the aid of the medic, had ensured that she was covered in Chris's blood before the night was over. Together, they did all that they could, but she feared that it was a case of too little too late. She had been there as he flatlined, helped drag away the one they called Rebecca when she became hysterical.

She had never had many friends. It was all part of the job; anonymity, isolation. Yet somehow, she felt the pain of the group. Because for one night, she had been part of something special, and when darkness fell over their world, it cast a shadow over hers.

"You following me?" Leon asked, startling Ada out of her reverie.

"I wanted to talk," she explained, and then paused briefly to draw breath. "I've seen you making your rounds; checking on all your friends when you should be at work today. And I thought to myself 'who is checking on Leon?'."

His expression did not change, and he offered no words of reply. She could not recall ever witnessing him stricken by silence. When he had no words left for her, she knew that the Earth had shifted on its axis.

"Claire won't talk to me," he said. "She won't talk to anyone but Jill, but...I can't help but feel that it's personal."

Tempted though she was to bring up the subject of love, she let it slide. He had always faced the emotion with the same attitude as she; it was this fact alone that told her Claire remained oblivious to his true feelings.

"If it was your brother, would _you_ act any differently?"

Leon shrugged, finally turning to face her.

"You assume I would give a shit at all," he told her. "I haven't spoken to my brother in twelve years. Last time I saw him, he knocked me out cold and stole three hundred dollars from my wallet. He could already be dead; I still don't care."

Such cold words, but she knew his history. As hard as she had tried to suppress curiosity, it had led her to research and she had found herself unable to stop until she knew every sordid detail of his past. He had disowned most of his family before pursuing his late father's career in law enforcement. With not much of a family to call his own, Ada could see why the others meant so much to him. They _were_ his family, blood be damned.

"For what it's worth," she breathed. "The BSAA have the evidence they need. The GPC has already placed sanctions against Tricell. The embarrassment of a repeat will ensure that no part of Tricell will survive this. They will crush them into the ground."

With a weak smile, Leon nodded. It was what they had expected. Umbrella had been a large enough problem, and now their successor had taken after them in more ways than one; the GPC would want to make an example of them, to ensure that there was no successor this time.

"It won't change what happened."

And with five words, he had shattered their victory.

"There is a price for everything," he told her. "For what we do, it is paid in blood. Sacrifice seen from afar is noble, but when you see the human side of it, when it is a friend who pays that price... It just makes victory seem hollow."

Such was the toll of war.

"You speak as though it is all over. It's not, not yet. And...I'm sure this is what Chris would want. He took those bullets to protect the woman he loved and their unborn child, and now Tricell face the same fate as Umbrella. Jill is okay and-"

"Jill is far from okay," he snapped. "She loves Chris, and that will _never_ change. She is one mention of his name away from a breakdown. I wouldn't call that 'okay'."

Ada did not appreciate his tone and she adjusted herself accordingly, thinking that perhaps her slouched position against the wall gave off all the wrong signals.

"Miracles do happen, Leon."

Laughter, devoid of humour.

"Finding Jill before she gave birth was one miracle, the baby is the second. You know better than I do that even one miracle is too much to ask for."

Riled up, he was perhaps on the verge of an outburst that he would live to regret. So she reached out for his arm, touched it gently. And he watched her, eyes fixated on her fingers, breath withheld.

"We should...probably find something to eat," he mumbled.

"Is this you asking me out for breakfast?"

With a chuckle, he rolled his eyes and signalled for her to follow him as he moved.

"I'm hungry and I don't want to be alone," he admitted. "Don't read too much into it."

* * *

**_March 19 2010, 8:30am. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Jill walked cautiously through the hallways, clutching her arms to her chest. Sleep would not embrace her despite exhaustion and the girl had run out of uses for her, at least for now. Lost in slumber that she hoped was peaceful, her daughter remained under the watchful eye of Rebecca. Because boredom had made way for emotion, and mother could not bear to spend another moment around the others, fearful that she may snap and never be able to dry the tears.

She was hiding, and she knew it. Hiding from the truth...and from him.

The room was exactly where she had been told, the door closed and blinds drawn. Of course, they would not wish for passers-by to glimpse what lay beyond. The thought stopped her as she moved to push, to finally face had terrified them all.

'You're a coward. If it was you, he would have been there from the start, would never have left your side.'

Would he? Because she could not bear the thought of setting her eyes upon him, of witnessing what the others dared not. Chris was always so strong, always capable enough to pull through anything. How could she see him like this when her heart wished for her to remember him the way that he was?

'You can't avoid this forever.'

And with that thought, she pushed.

Sound departed with the closing of the door behind her, the sucking of the seal seeming to put in place a barrier that separated them from the rest of the world. It appeared to have sealed her breath on the other side, because suddenly she found it awfully hard to breathe.

Deeply tanned skin was now pale, paler than hers had once been. They had cleaned away the blood, but some remained in his hair and she was sure that the bandages concealed much more. Shadows seemed more pronounced upon his skin, and when she touched his hand, it was cold. And yes, blood had dried beneath his nails, short though they were.

The comforting beep of the monitor was all that told her that he was still alive.

The machines terrified her. She did not even know what half of them were, knew only that he required a ventilator because he was unable to breathe on his own. And the tube in his side... There were too many tubes.

Closing her eyes, she fumbled her way into the chair at the side of his bed, attempting to regulate her own breathing. She had not understood half of what the doctor had told her. The bullet to his thigh was a wound she had once sustained and lived through, and fortunately the shot to his abdomen had caused minimal damage, which had been easy enough to repair. But the third...

One bullet had pierced his left lung, she knew that; they told her that he was lucky to have made it to the hospital, let alone be in this state of near-death. The lung had collapsed, an accumulation of air and blood where it should not have been only serving to escalate the seriousness of his injuries. Again, they said that he was fortunate not to have drowned in his own blood.

When she asked of the prognosis, the doctor had grimaced uncomfortably.

_'Ballistic trauma is different with every case,'_ he had told her. _'Even a clear shot to the heart can be survived. Mr. Redfield is in great shape, which works in his favour, but... Miss Valentine, it is a miracle that he is still breathing at all. He could die in his sleep aged one hundred, or he could die here tomorrow...it is something that we cannot predict. We have done all that we can; the rest is up to him.'_

But Chris was not in the ICU for nothing. The drugs did not keep him unconscious; he simply had not woken yet. They did not know if he ever would. Further probing had forced the doctor to reveal that the longer he remained unconscious, the greater the strain upon his heart would be. As the wound was to his left lung and not the right, the chances of his heart simply giving out were increased, and made resuscitation and endeavour that ranked only a sliver of hope above futile. He had already flatlined once during surgery, and once again luck had prevailed and they were able to pull him back from the brink. They did not think that he would be so lucky a second time.

Quietly, she pulled the chair closer to the bed, reaching for his arm when she could move no further.

And then shame descended as fear almost drew her hand away. He felt like a corpse, did not look much better. But what right did she have to allow fear to keep her from him? What if he had woken alone to learn that Leon had been the only one with the courage to visit, that the woman he loved had tried her best not to think of him in such a state?

"Chris, I'm so sorry," she wept, chest tightening as she spoke. And all the words that she had prepared evaporated, leaving her speechless and cold.

"You have to wake up," she told him. "You have a _beautiful_ daughter, and...she needs her daddy. She needs to know you."

Fingers slipped into his palm and she gripped his hand tightly, wishing that his fingers would wrap around her own.

"She has your eyes." Little details; ones that she knew he would have fixated upon. "Most of the time, she just likes to be held. I think she likes snuggling. And...she's healthy, Chris. Everything about her is...perfect."

He did not even twitch, eyelids did not flutter.

"For what it's worth, I don't hold any ill feelings. I don't care that you didn't believe me – I didn't believe myself sometimes. We've done a lot worse to one another over the years. And despite all that has happened, this last year has been the happiest of my life. I got to fall in love with you all over again...so don't you dare leave me now."

Begging would not help, but she felt utterly helpless and simply needed to do _something_.

And suddenly, she knew how he had felt in the months consoling her. With little to do but hold her hand and whisper how much he loved her, she now knew how her sickness had taken its toll on him too.

She pressed her lips to his bicep, barely able to see his lips against the tube that connected to a machine she assumed was breathing for him. He tasted different; clean. If anything, he tasted of death.

'Stop being so pessimistic,' she warned herself. 'You don't know what is going to happen.'

"Please," she begged. "We need you. I can't do this alone."

'If he had been wearing the vest, he would be awake now, may have been at the birth.'

Crippling guilt seized her, and suddenly she felt as though she were in need of a ventilator. Because she had worn his vest and still, he had stepped in front of her. If only he had thought of himself for once, he would not have been so badly injured.

And she should have done more, should have refused his help, no matter how weak she may have felt.

"I never wanted you to die for me! If...if this is your way of getting back at me for what I did in Europe, then okay, I get it...you can wake up now."

Laughter broke through, following her smile. Because for a moment, she had convinced herself that the joke was not such a fantasy, that he too would chuckle and then rise to embrace her with an early utterance of "April Fool's".

But he remained silent and still, and laughter became tears. Every sob brought pain to her chest, the loss more than she could bear. Because the seconds stole hope piece by piece, and optimism was a school of thought that she simply could not subscribe to. The heart that barely beat could not be felt as she succumbed to grief and cried against his shoulder. Because if it stopped beating, so too would hers.

**AN – Please review :)**


	22. All Tides Must Change

**AN** - I'm sorry about the late-ness of the update. I struggled a little with this chapter, but to make up for the delay, this one is longer than usual ^_^. The quote is from 'Wherever You Will Go' by The Calling.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed - _IntangibleHope, Kenshin13, Zenu, ebonyXivory777, Rose Makayla Black, x-Artichoke-x, .-SnipingWolf, Metalmark, Chocolate milkahh, C. Redfield 86, tek, Badger, Gunslinger Nurse, xSummonerYunax, Ninja-Gnome, Raidenlover6, Angelica Burrows_ and _Keybladem_. I was overwhelmed by the response to last chapter and I honestly can't express how grateful I am ^_^. I hope that this chapter doesn't disappoint. I shall try to get round to replies soon!  
Also, I want to say a heartfelt thank you to everyone who wished me well with personal stuff - I honestly wasn't expecting it and I was really touched by it :). So thank you; I really appreciate it.

~X~

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Twenty-One - _**All Tides Must Change

_'I know now, just quite how, my life and love might still go on_  
_In your heart, in your mind, I'll stay with you for all of time.'_  
~The Calling~

**_March 19 2010, 12:00pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Jill woke to a soft voice, one that drifted through the emptiness of the room. The blinds remained closed, the door firmly locked. It drew her to roll over, surprised to find that discomfort had alleviated.

It was Chris's silhouette that she saw, leaning over the crib. He smiled down at the child amidst the swaddling, held a hand out of sight, presumably stroking a cheek.

"You're right," he breathed, too caught up in his daughter to tear his eyes away. "She is beautiful."

Such simple words, but they touched upon unfathomable emotion, and relief brought a smile to her lips. The white shirt that he wore emphasised a natural tan, not the sickly pallor she had witnessed earlier that day. And there was no blood, no tubes...no pain.

He seemed to read her expression, seemed to know what she needed. Within seconds, she was in his arms, clinging desperately to him.

"This can't...Chris," she mumbled. Love overwhelmed logic and she could not let him go, scared that if she did he would slip away. Because she was happy in his arms, as she always was.

But happiness rarely lasted, and with a brush of the hand, hers shattered. There was nothing beneath his shirt; no lumps or imperfections, just muscle. And when she pulled back, when she gripped the hem and pulled soft fabric up over toned abs and hard pectorals, she saw that his skin was flawless, the scars that were present remnants of wounds inflicted long ago.

"No!" she pleaded, tears choking her once again. "I can't be dreaming. Please...Chris-"

He smiled sadly, confirming her fear. Because it was never this easy, not for them. And even if he did pull through, if luck did not fail them this time, it would not be as simple as him opening his eyes and climbing out of bed.

Then why was he here? Was this simply a dream? Or had- No, she could not bear to think about that.

But what if this was more than a dream? What if the turn for the worse they had all been expecting had happened, and it truly was Chris, here to console her, to tell her how much he loved her with the last echoes of his soul?

"I'm not dead," he chuckled. "Not yet, anyway. I guess you just miss me a little too much."

There was no such thing as too much. What she felt now was nothing compared to what lay behind the wall, what would be unleashed if the machines proved inadequate.

"Don't be sad," he urged when she pulled him into her again, sobbing into his neck. "We have our baby, Jill. We have our little girl! Isn't she something?"

Sounding every inch the proud father, his words could not help but darken her thoughts just a little more.

Every inch of him that she had committed to memory presented before her, and he _was_ real in that moment. As strong and capable as he always was, with lips that would often kiss her for no reason other than he loved her too much not to.

Gently, he pulled her towards the pillows, to a position more comfortable than the one they were in. Her head fell to his shoulder, wishing that she could feel his warmth.

"Is this where you tell me I have to move on?" she asked with a shot of pain to the heart. "That I have to forget you and find someone who will make me happy?"

There was little point in insisting such a thing. She would never move on, and he knew her too well to think otherwise. Perhaps there was once a time when she would swallow her grief and continue to wade through life, always mourning her lost love. Now, she felt more connected to him than she ever had. Like a spiritual conjoined twin, severance could not occur without her own soul incurring considerable damage. And there was no operation to save the soul, no medicine to lessen the ache. She would feel it for the rest of her life, until nature bowed to her wish and reunited them once again.

"Are you kidding?" he chuckled. "You know I'd haunt any man who put the moves on my girl. If I do die here, you better not forget me!"

There it was; the Chris she knew and loved. And she laughed too, wanting his lips to kiss more than just her forehead.

"I will always be with you," he told her, serious this time. "Whatever happens. I'll make sure you're happy."

His grip tightened as the tears returned and she trembled in his arms, fearful for the reality that awaited her when she woke.

"Will you still be here?" She was sure she had never sounded so meek, so frightened. "Or will..."

Emotion overwhelmed her and once again, she lost herself to him. His lips kissed along her forehead, hands gripping her almost desperately.

"Yes," he sighed, evidently not happy with the truth. "I know how much you love me; of course you'll still dream of me. I _don't_ want you to forget me, Jill, but I want you to live a happy life; I don't want you to spend every night crying yourself to sleep over me. Honey, I'm not that special."

But he was, whether or not he saw it.

Chris was always a constant in her life; someone she could count on to be there no matter what happened, even in their years of friendship. And despite the danger of their job, she had never considered his absence. He had promised that he would always be there, no matter what. And she had believed him, had never had any reason not to. He was far too careful to die on the battlefield, and he was always in perfect health.

"I need to know that you are going to be okay without me."

The finality of his words shocked her and she was sure that her heart shattered into an irreparable mess. She had always been sure to let him know that he could ask anything of her, but this was too much.

"I won't be. Not ever."

"Don't be so damn selfish!"

Pulling back in shock, she chewed on her bottom lip. If he was a product of her dream, then surely he should be nothing but loving?

"Think about our daughter! She needs you. She needs a mother who will care for her and nurture her, not someone who will spend her early years in a catatonic state of grief."

The truth she had seen for herself. But she did not know how her mind would react to a grief so profound. The loss of their first child had fractured an already fragile mind; the loss of the man she loved would shatter every fragment of her that remained.

"I will take good care of her," she assured him. "I will make sure that she has the best life possible. But there will always be that part of me that wishes you were there with us. I will always love you, and you will always have every inch of me, heart and soul. Not even death could change that."

Reply was stolen by the cry of their daughter, weaving a tale of discomfort and the need for her mother's warmth. She was not even a day old, and yet Jill could already read each level of her voice.

"She needs you." Chris' voice already seemed so far away.

And then he was gone as her eyes opened to a different view, the baby crying louder and more desperately. The sleep had barely fallen from her eyes when she was by her side, taking her into her arms with whispered words of comfort.

"Hey," she soothed. "Hey... Whoa!"

She turned her nose away from the smell, but it seemed to follow, seemed to linger.

"Well _that's_ not cute," she coughed, already on her way to the bathroom.

The changing table was already surrounded with items Rebecca had been kind enough to retrieve from home. A folded pink onesie with matching hat, diapers, wipes; the soft blanket she had been told Chris had washed several times along with the onesies in anticipation of her rescue already lined the crib. But that was Chris; always one step ahead. He knew how she feared that the hospital blankets would be too rough and would not smell as comforting as one of their own. And the diapers...he had chosen them himself, arguing that the dinosaurs across the waist band may not be feminine, but they were 'cool'.

His absence was loud in that moment. A cruel dream lingered in memory and as expected as it had been, she wished that it had not materialised, that her sleep had been peaceful.

"Mommy worries too much," she sighed, slipping the girl out of her hospital-issued onesie. She would have changed her earlier had she not been so afraid of waking her. "Daddy's going to be okay."

'Lying to her already?'

She cursed the pessimistic thought and drew a deep breath, realising that silence had once again fallen upon them.

"Better already?" she hummed, smiling despite the darkness of her thoughts. Because pessimism had not taken her daughter into account, did not recognise how much she loved her, how much happiness would rush forth at the sight of that blissfully ignorant expression.

It was the first time she had faced a diaper change of such calibre, but somehow the loving, utterly dependant gaze she found herself locked in assuaged every fear within her. And before she knew it, the dinosaur diaper was in place, baby clean and umbilical stump tended to. The girl was quiet still when her mother reached over to wash her hands at the sink, simply watching with devout curiosity.

Tiny fingers found their way to a toothless mouth and Jill laughed, tickling a small hand with the tip of her finger.

"You can't _still_ be hungry?" she chuckled.

A blink. Her heart fluttered. Even the smallest of movements thrilled her. A kiss to the cheek would turn her head one way, a stroke of her soft hair encouraging a noise she could not quite find the words to describe. Yes, her baby was beautiful, and she was enamoured. One look into those eyes and everything else became insignificant. She spoke to her, though she was not quite sure of exactly what she was saying, and occasionally she would pause to pull a face, to seal her lips and blow air into her cheeks just to see those eyes widen.

Chris' eyes.

It did not feel right that he was not here. He would have been the first to cry, no matter what he would claim. Finally, he had the family he had always wanted. If only he were awake to appreciate his wealth.

And the words of her dream...she knew that they spoke truth. He would have wanted her to move on, to remember him as he was and to be happy in her new life. But how could she? She would be a devoted mother, and she would love their baby girl enough for both parents, but there would always be a hole in her heart; one that even the girl could not fill.

'It is always harder for the ones left behind,' she lamented.

"I love you," she whispered to her daughter, leaning down to place another gentle kiss upon her cheek. She was warm, and soft, barely reacting to the contact other than to bring her hand to her mouth once again. "Whatever happens, nothing will ever change that. I'm going to make sure that you have the life daddy would want you to have...the life you deserve."

Fighting back tears, she reached for the pink onesie. Because crying in front of her was one thing she had sworn that she would not do. This should have been a happy time, and she wanted her to see nothing but smiling faces and celebration.

'And what will happen when you take her to his funeral?'

Fed up with uncontrollable pessimism, she silenced her thoughts and focused on the task at hand, humming to herself as she slipped obedient feet into the clothing. The girl was quiet and still as she worked, careful not to irritate the stump. The onesie was typical newborn size, but still proved a little too big. And as a fabric-covered hand travelled once again towards an open mouth, Jill laughed to herself and folded back the cuffs.

"I think we need to swaddle those hands out of reach," she teased. "Now, where is that hat?"

She somewhat resembled a marshmallow, clad head to toe in pink gear, but Jill found it endearing. Complaints were made when she lifted the baby onto her shoulder, holding her gently as she began to sing, hoping to calm her irritation. And it seemed to work, though from her position she could not tell if she was finally allowing sleep to wash over her. The books had told her that newborns would sleep up to eighteen hours a day, but her little girl seemed to want to do anything but. Part of her wondered if she could sense that something was wrong, but reason told her that there were simply so many new sights, sounds and smells to experience that sleep seemed unappealing right now.

'And hopefully it will mean that she sleeps well tonight,' she prayed.

There was a knock at the door, and she moved to unlock it, not bothering to check through the window. The guard would not have allowed anyone she did not know to approach.

It was Alejandra who waited on the other side, smiling awkwardly.

"Come in," she beckoned, holding tightly onto her baby. She could feel small lips moving gently against exposed skin, fingers curling around the collar of her gown.

"Thank you," Alejandra breathed, allowing the door to close quietly behind her. "Jill, I came to apologise for the way I acted earlier. I was upset and I was looking to take my anger out on someone...I should not have done that."

Jill bowed her head, silently accepting her words.

"It's okay," she assured her. "I...acted like an ass myself. So I owe you an apology too. Your daughter is hurt and... When I think of what could have happened to my little girl had you not found me when you did...there are not words to describe what I feel. I understand what you are going through, believe me."

Because through everything, she was simply thankful that her daughter was here, and that she was healthy and amongst those who loved her.

Alejandra seemed to drop the subject with another attempt at a smile, observing the child that rested upon her mother's shoulder, peaceful and, from what Jill gathered, still awake.

"I remember when Gabriella was so young," she chuckled. "They grow up so fast. I only wish she was less trouble now."

Jill laughed quietly, offering a finger to the hand at her collar and kissing it when fingers curled around her own.

"Chris will be okay." And now, every uninjured friend had offered the same sentiment. "He is not the kind of man who would allow a few bullets to come between himself and his family. He is strong enough to pull through, I know it."

It was not Chris's strength or resolve that was in question; simply whether his body was durable enough to recover from the injuries it had been dealt.

"I...just wanted to apologise," Alejandra said. "I will...leave you be for now."

As she turned to leave, something twisted within Jill's chest. Her soul was desolate, and where she had once requested isolation, now she ached for company other than that of her daughter.

"Wait!" she called, hoping that her weakness was not so evident. "Stay...please."

* * *

**_March 19 2010, 12:15pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Rebecca was sore and stiff when she woke from her nap, confused to find that she was not in her own bed. Her head rested against something hard and warm, a light jacket draped over her body. The scent of it was comforting, as was that of her pillow and so she remained still as she collected her thoughts, recognising the interior of the reception area to the maternity ward.

It was then that she realised exactly what she had curled into; another body, one far more muscular than her own, with an aging tattoo winding down the length of the right arm.

"Oh God," she groaned as she pushed herself upright, barely catching his jacket as it slipped from her shoulders. "How long was I out?"

"About two hours," Billy chuckled. "You obviously needed it, so I didn't want to wake you."

There was a magazine in his hands, more piled on the table at his other side. They were mostly parenting magazines, with a few comics, picture books and one or two men's lifestyle magazines; hardly a riveting read for a man such as Billy.

"You've been sitting here all this time?"

He cast the magazine he had been reading onto the pile and turned to her.

"Leon stopped by for a while," he yawned. "Nice guy; I like him. Can't say I was bored, though; you're cute when you sleep."

She blushed at his words, hoping that it did not show. She enjoyed his company, in whatever form it may come in. So little time had passed since their reunion, and yet it felt as though they had never been apart.

Loathe though she was to admit it, she recognised that his reappearance had not assuaged her feelings as she had assumed it would, but rather had served only to reinforce what she had felt in the wake of the news of his 'death'. Though she did not recognise the emotion, her heart had begun to whisper that it may just be love.

"I'm sorry about your tattoo," she hummed, catching sight of the stitches in his arm. The wound was not big, but the scar it was likely to leave would cut through part of the 'o'. But Billy did not seem to mind, and shrugged off her apology.

"It needs touching up anyway. It's a big tattoo...small wound."

Rebecca did not know why she smiled, nor why she took his hand into hers, tracing the marks along his forearm with the fingers of her free hand.

"Were you close to your mom?" she asked. She told herself that it was merely conversation, but part of her truly wanted to know. Despite their history, they remained relative strangers and at that moment in time it was not something that she was all that comfortable with.

Billy just laughed, making no attempt to pull his arm away. If anything, he seemed to enjoy the movement of the pads of her fingers against his skin.

"I'm a man of the world and they say that I'm strong," he sang. "But my heart is heavy and my hope is gone."

She blinked, stunned as he sighed wearily and shook his head in exasperation.

"Mother Love," he attempted to explain. "Queen!"

Again, she simply did not understand, and shrugged to tell him so. With another heavy sigh, his arm slipped from her hands.

"It's a song," he laughed. "By the greatest band this world has ever known. You should know that! I got the tattoo in my early twenties. I'd been through a few hellish breakups and... My mom, she was always there to pick up the pieces. I'd wanted a tattoo for years and that song was constantly on my mind at the time."

With a light blush to her cheeks, Rebecca nodded. Of course she knew of Queen, but somehow she suspected that there was a far deeper meaning to the mark. And perhaps there was...perhaps he simply did not feel comfortable enough to share the truth with her?

"Well," he coughed. "If you don't like Queen, who do you like? Let's consider this a long-overdue opportunity to get to know one another."

It was making the most of a bad situation; exactly what the others had so far failed to do. For so many reasons, she was glad that he was here. His optimism somehow lessened the sting of reality.

"I like the Beatles," she revealed after some thought. "Sarah McLachlan..."

"So...boring stuff?"

Rolling her eyes, she elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

"So I've never been that into rock and roll," she apologised sarcastically. "I guess that was just another way I stood out from the group. Claire loves Queen; you could be great friends. Leon never talks about music, but I've seen a few old punk rock records in his collection. Jill loves punk rock too, and the Blues; I guess that's why they get along so well. And Chris..."

She was not quite prepared for the tear that presented in her heart at the sound of his name. He was merely a friend to her, albeit an old and dearly cherished one; she could not imagine what Jill must have been going through if his condition had this much of an effect on her.

'We all love Chris,' she reminded herself. 'This is difficult for all of us.'

"Chris loves old school rock and roll," she sighed. "AC/DC...he wanted Highway to Hell played at his funeral. Jill refused to speak to him for days when she found out that he'd actually written it into his will. She said it was insensitive, but I think the mention of his funeral just upset her. We held a memorial service for her, after the assignment in Europe. Reading her will was one of the most difficult things I've ever done...but she'd written that she wanted You Shook Me All Night Long at her funeral. It's Chris's favourite song and...he always said that it reminded him of her. He smiled when he heard it. It was the first time he had smiled since we lost her."

Tears forced her to pause, and suddenly Billy's arm was around her shoulders, his smile absent. Of all of her friends, Chris was the one she had assumed would always be there. He was so strong and so damn good at what he did. She had expected him to die an old man, peaceful and content in his sleep, not gasping for breath as his pregnant fiancée was dragged away, screaming for his life.

"Any news on his condition?" she asked, hoping and praying that he was at least awake.

Billy frowned and shook his head.

"Leon said he spoke to his doctor earlier, but nothing has changed. I hope that we get some good news soon, for Jill's sake if no-one else's."

Rebecca nodded slowly, agreeing but finding that her voice caught in her throat. St. Mary's was a large hospital, but was best known the treatment of heart and lung problems. Chris could not have been in a better place, but it was the generalised intensive care unit that he had been placed in, when she knew that he would receive better care had he been assigned to the specialised respiratory intensive care unit. Alas, the specialised units possessed only a few beds and they had all been full upon his arrival. A lot had changed since then, but the doctors within the ICU did not wish to risk moving him in such a fragile state.

She only regretted that she had chosen the path of pathology; though she knew more than the others, she still struggled to truly understand his position. All she knew was that while the damage dealt to his lung was not as catastrophic as it could have been, the injuries could place a fatal amount of strain on his heart. Despite already having failed during surgery, the doctors were confident that there would be no permanent damage to the heart itself. How long that remained so depended on how long machines forced his body to continue functioning.

"Stop worrying," Billy sighed into her hair, holding her tighter. "You've been running around all day making sure that everyone else is okay. What about you? Do you ever think of yourself?"

"If you are implying that I need to go home, forget it," she told him. "I can't just leave with everything that has been happening. I'm supposed to be working right now!"

Without a word of warning, he stood and pulled her to her feet, catching her when pins and needles stole the strength from her legs.

"Come with me," he instructed. "This isn't just worry, Rebecca."

She stumbled after him, his long legs moving faster than hers could even at a jog. The direction of travel was already clear. Out into the Obstetrics and Gynaecology department, through the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, and then the general Intensive Care Unit - right past the room Chris slumbered within - and then out into the Spinal and Head Injuries Unit.

"You feel guilty over what happened to Gabriella," Billy told her when they finally came to a halt, outside of a room she recognised to be that of the injured girl. "Don't deny it; I can read you like an open book. The others may be blind to it but I _know_ you. So maybe it's time you talked to her."

The room was empty when she gazed through the blinds, though she could see that Gabriella was awake. And she could see that Billy was right, that guilt had brought her back to this very spot on numerous occasions, but had held her back from entering, from apologising like she felt that she should.

Steps were taken with barely half a breath, and there was no longer a window to separate them. The door closed behind her, Billy remaining on the other side; he would not have accompanied her if she had asked him to.

"I wondered how long you were going to lurk out there for," Gabriella smiled. "Are you okay?"

With barely suppressed laughter, Rebecca moved to the chair at her bedside.

"The girl who fractured her spine is asking if I'm okay," she chuckled. "I'd ask you the same question, but I already know the answer."

There was not a hint of pessimism about the girl; whether induced by pain killers or natural in origin, her smile did not sway.

"If you came here to apologise, forget it. Shit happens. If we dwell on the past, it affects our future. Life is too short for that."

Rebecca found it difficult to maintain her composure, choking back tears that she felt were uncalled for. Because here lay a girl who may never walk again, shrugging off a spinal injury as though it were a paper cut. She could not smile as Gabriella did, and she had her health.

"You want in on a secret?" the girl giggled mischievously. Rebecca was unsure if she nodded. "Lift the sheets up over my feet."

She did as requested, pausing at the foot of the bed. And then she saw it; movement. Toes wiggled, some more than others, and Gabriella laughed as though it was the most hilarious sight in the world.

It should have been an impossible feat, given her injuries, but Rebecca witnessed it with her own eyes, swallowed her disbelief. If she was capable of so much now, the road to recovery appeared to be a very bright one indeed.

"Don't tell my family," Gabriella pleaded. "Mum gets over-excited. I don't want her to get her hopes up."

"But...but..." Rebecca spluttered. "Gabriella, this is _good_! Don't you know that-"

It was her own willpower that interrupted her. Medical jargon would neither help nor comfort. And somewhere amidst the smiles and the laughter, she saw the light. In dark times, hope was what you made it. Thinking the worst and hoping for the best was detrimental to both victim and family; one should expect the best and throw worry out of the window. Because some things could not be changed, and optimism proved to be the most effective balm for the worried mind.

"Thank you," Rebecca told her. "You saved my life back there."

Gabriella would admit to nothing, simply smiled as she lay back into her pillows. Because it was simply something that friends did for one another. If death was something that could be chosen, that could be pre-arranged...Rebecca knew that she would want her life to enable others to continue.

If Chris died tonight, if he died right now...she knew that it was a death he would have chosen himself. Selfless, right until the end.

* * *

**_March 19 2010, 12:30pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Claire could not tear her eyes away from her. Whatever she had expected, this exceeded it in every way. She almost hung over Jill's shoulder, wishing that she could hold her niece in her arms.

Alas, the pain had begun to poke through the veil of opiates and she dared not take such a precious thing into her arms, terrified that she may drop the poor girl.

It seemed strange to be watching her as she fed, but her heart did not care how she saw her, only that she did.

"She is the most beautiful baby I've ever seen," she gushed. "And I swear I'm not just saying that because she's my niece."

Jill laughed, grinning from ear to ear. Claire sensed pride in her reaction, and she knew that she had every right to be proud.

Still, she avoided the issue that plagued both minds; the absent father. He would have been so proud, would have fawned over his daughter and kissed her mother until there were no waking hours left in the day.

"Please tell me that she looks like him," Jill pleaded. The identity of 'him' needed no elaboration. "Tell me it's not wishful thinking."

Anyone could see that the baby was Chris' daughter; she seemed to possess a perfect blend of her parents' features, and together they resulted in something beautiful. Chris' eyes, Jill's lips...her natural hair.

"She's definitely a Redfield," she assured her. "Definitely a Valentine, too."

"She has the appetite of a Redfield."

Claire giggled and nudged her friend gently.

"All Redfield babies are born with hair," she mused. "And did you see her eyes when she looked up at you? When Redfields fall in love, they fall deep...she is so in love with you."

A smile tugged at Jill's lips and she sniffed back looming emotion.

"She's a baby," she laughed softly. "She's in love with the world."

Claire had never conceived the idea that she would see her brother's child before him. Then again, a lot had happened lately and she could not say that any of it had been expected.

There was an unsettling sadness about Jill's movements, and joy trickled from the moment. She too felt the grief of knowing that a loved one clung to the last crumbling foothold of life, but she would not speak a word of it. Jill had already comforted her once; the extra dose of guilt was more than she could bear.

"Have you visited him?" she asked.

Jill nodded, finally tearing her eyes away from her baby.

"This morning," she admitted. "I couldn't even spare the breath to tell him what he needs to know."

Claire understood her words.

"I can't," she sighed. "Call me a coward, but...I can't see him like that, Jill."

Chris was her brother and her best friend; his strength had pulled her through many moments of sadness. It was difficult enough to witness his weakest moments in the wake of Jill's disappearance. The days that she had spent clearing empty beer bottles from his apartment and plucking Jill's photograph from comatose arms still haunted her. The image of his broken body would remain with her for the rest of her life.

"It's okay," Jill assured her with a soft smile. "I...I felt the same. But your heart and your thoughts are with him. In his eyes, that is what would matter the most."

A tear accompanied a smile as she nodded, agreeing with every word. She did not know how much longer she could fight back the raging tide of emotion, knew only that she needed to be far away from Jill when it finally broke. She had enough to worry about, could barely hold herself together; it was in her nature to comfort those around her, and she was in no fit state to care for anyone other than herself and her child.

"I should probably get back before they realise I'm gone," she said. "I'm not actually supposed to be out of bed."

It pained her to leave her niece behind, but she felt that it was necessary, for Jill's sake as well as her own. But as she prepared to rise, she found that duty held her back, love for her friend urging her to say more.

"If you need anything, anything at all..." she wanted her to know. "I'm here for you."

It was a simple sentiment, but one that revealed all that was in her heart. And with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the arm, she left her family behind, stepping back into the hallway, ready to face reality.

Her shoulder ached now, and the sling did little to ease the pain. Whatever they had given her was evidently wearing off. Even her balance did not seem to be accurate, and she stumbled as she felt her way along the wall.

Perhaps some fresh air would help? Being cooped up in a stuffy hospital room did not exactly assuage anxiety and stress.

The maternity ward led out onto the gardens at the centre of the hotel. Claire assumed that it was the beauty of the scene that led to the arrangement of the surrounding wards. Maternity, Intensive Care; even the Oncology department. Because apparently only those bringing life into the world or feeling it slip through their fingers deserved a sight so beautiful.

With a sigh, she pushed against the wall, hoping that her balance would remain long enough to slip outside.

But she never made it. Because Leon leaned against the wall on the other side of the glass, Ada barely two feet in front of him. The door was open, voices drifting through. And though her heart told her that she did not wish to hear their words, her mind told her to stay. So she hid behind the jutting wall, leaning just beyond the corner so that she could watch as she eavesdropped.

"Are you going to tell her?" Ada asked, arms folded across her chest. It appeared that she was confronting their mutual friend, and Leon's awkward stance told her that he was less than comfortable with the direction of their conversation.

"She has enough to worry about," he sighed. "Besides, we don't know what happened, we don't-"

"Leon, when doctors refuse to give you the status of a patient it is because they have a duty to inform the next of kin first. We both know that Chris was gravely injured; this could be the news we've all been expecting."

A heart plummeted. Hope failed.

"We don't know that!" Leon shot back. "They looked busy, maybe that's all it was. Maybe there was a complication but he's okay now."

Hope and faith were not concepts that Ada seemed acquainted with. As much as Claire wanted to hate the woman, she found that she could not. Because she was the same as they all were, no matter where her loyalties lay. When the worst could happen, it often did. Ada was far more logical than the others; she reacted to the evidence and not to emotion.

"I'm not telling Claire anything until we know for sure," Leon insisted. "Jill too."

"You can't protect them forever. They are both strong women, Leon, they don't need-"

"They both love Chris. He means more to them than you know."

"And there you go again..."

Ada averted her gaze, sighed as she drew her arms closer into her chest. Somehow, his words appeared to have hurt her, or at least to have swayed her from usual emotionless standpoint. Claire's one-handed grip on the wall shifted momentarily and she stumbled, moving closer into the hard surface when balance was found.

"You think that I can't understand love, as though I am a vacuum of emotion," Ada continued. "But what about you, Leon? I can see that Claire cares about you, yet you give her nothing in return. When current events come to pass, you will find that you are left with nothing."

Why was she defending her? What did it matter to her what occurred behind the public face of their relationship?

"My personal life is none of your concern!" he warned.

"Would you like to know what I wrote?" Ada asked. "After all, you did burn my letter."

Silence. She appeared to take it as an affirmative answer.

"I told you that my life did not hold the same meaning as it once had, that my job was no longer enough for me. I could not get you off my mind, and I wanted you to know that it was never personal between us...but perhaps it was time that it should be. I told you that I loved you, Leon...and I still do."

A heart did not merely break...it shattered. And Claire was sure that each shard would tear her apart from within, that she would collapse where she stood.

And the silence only added salt to the wound.

"Ada..." he breathed, speaking so quietly that she barely heard the name.

Her heart told her to run, her head forcing her to stay. She wanted to hear it, wanted to know that she had not been imagining it all this time.

"I am _so_ in love."

Claire could not breathe, felt herself cry though tears did not fall. She had lost men before, but it had never hurt, not like this.

"But not with you."

All of a sudden, the pain was gone. Breathless, she turned back to the window, waited.

"What are you saying?"

Another pause, but he laughed this time, shook his head as though a ridiculously obvious concept had just occurred to him. An perhaps it had.

"I'm saying that I am in love with Claire...that I have been for as long as I can remember."

Ada did not appear to take his rejection to heart, simply smiled as she absorbed his words.

"I don't think I'm the one you should be telling this to," she told him.

And without another word, he left, almost sprinting down the length of the gardens.

But it was not his reaction that brought further shock to her soul; it was Ada's. Her eyes peered directly at her hiding spot, smile continuing to linger upon her lips. Then...she winked. It was her last move before she too left the gardens, turning her back on the scene.

'Did she- Did she know that I was here?'

Her heart thudded so loudly in her chest that she could not hear much else. Because he loved her. _He loved her!_

And he was also on his way to her room.

"Shit!"

She was quite sure that she had never run so fast in her life, hoping that he would take the elevator and not the stairs. Patients complained as she passed, the pain in her shoulder becoming nigh on unbearable. But she endured, and she reached her empty room with enough time to climb between the sheets, to grimace as her shoulder throbbed and she pretended to slumber.

The door opened, slammed shut behind him. Could he see her heart beating? Was she still smiling? She did not know, and she did not care when lips pressed to hers, when a gentle hand stroked her hair. And then composure faltered, and she reached up with her free arm, wrapped it around his neck. Leon let out a cry of surprise when he lost his balance, falling uncomfortably onto her.

"Claire, I-" he gasped, momentarily freeing his lips. "I-"

Balance regained, he held her down with hands that were as strong as they were gentle, gazed down into her eyes with an amused smile playing on his lips.

"Baby, I'm trying to tell you that I love you."

She chewed on her bottom lip, stifling a smile that she was sure would scar. Those eyes held her, spoke to her in a manner that rendered his words superfluous. However she had expected this moment to be, expectations had been surpassed, and she no longer cared for the words...she cared only that he had finally submitted, had finally given every inch of himself to her.

"Just shut up and kiss me," she giggled.

And he did.

* * *

**_March 19 2010, 12:50pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

Jill tried to put her down to sleep after the feed, but cries of protests quickly brought baby back into mother's arms.

"You are such an attention seeker," she laughed. "Maybe we should have called you Claire."

Cuddles had swiftly become a staring contest of sorts, both deeply engrossed, neither wanting to look away. For the girl, it was curiosity and comfort, but for Jill it was so much more. Because when baby slept, mother cried. Hours had passed and still there was no word on Chris' condition. His daughter was too young to understand what had happened, so his fiancée worried for both.

Beneath it all, she felt that she was not equipped to raise a child on her own.

"So, you've met everyone now," she told the girl, choosing to ignore her grief once again. "Well, not grandpa, but he's up for parole this week and we're hoping for the best."

Dick would dote upon his granddaughter, as he had upon his daughter prior to his arrest. It was family that had driven him into a life of crime, and it was family that had pulled him through the years of incarceration, vowing that he would turn his life around if he ever saw freedom again.

That being said, she still did not appreciate the exclamation of "It's about damn time" upon the reveal of her pregnancy...and her engagement.

"He loved daddy too," she sighed. "When we would visit him together, I could hardly get a word in. I think grandpa saw him as the son he never had."

'No more talk about Chris!' she urged herself.

"Uncle Billy is going to stay with us for a little while," she continued, willing back encroaching tears. "He doesn't have anywhere else to go, and we both owe him our lives. Between you and me...I think he has a thing for Aunt Rebecca."

She giggled at the admission, wondering exactly what they were up to now. He would follow wherever she went, with an arm around her if she stood close enough.

When a knock sounded against the door, she assumed that it would be them, was surprised when an unfamiliar face appeared.

An Asian woman in a knee-length red dress; though she had not yet met Ada, she would recognise her anywhere.

"I hope I'm not intruding," she said, holding her position as though she waited for an invite.

A lack of familiarity with the woman told Jill to move back, to request that she leave. But her conscience would not allow he to do such a thing. The woman herself may not be known, but her work was; it was she who had led them to Spencer, she who had led Chris to Africa. And it was she who had taken what Billy knew and pinpointed her location. They were strangers, but already she owed her so much.

"Not at all," she insisted with a smile. "You must be Ada?"

She nodded, stepping cautiously towards her.

"And this must be baby Redfield?"

Jill looked down to the bundle in her arms, nodding proudly. Though she often requested silence, she could not help but show off her little bundle of joy whenever the opportunity arose.

"Yes. And I hear that we have you to thank for being here."

Ada shrugged indifferently, tickling the baby's hand as curious eyes found unfamiliar features.

"No thanks necessary," she said. "I'm just glad that you are both okay. Thought I'd stop by and introduce myself before I leave."

"So soon?"

Another shrug, and she straightened her posture, brushing down her dress.

"I think my uses have been expended. There is little point in overstaying my welcome."

Somehow, the news saddened Jill. She had hoped at least that she would stay until they knew for certain what was to become of Chris. But she could see her point; if anything, her presence would only cause further friction between Leon and Claire, and it was the last thing that either of them needed right now.

Slowly, Ada reached into her purse and produced a small slip of paper.

"My contact details," she explained as she placed it carefully onto the bed. "Just in case you ever need my help. Leon has them, but...well I honestly don't expect to hear from him again. And I sincerely hope that I never hear from you again."

A wink accompanied her speech and Jill smiled, hoping the same.

"If- _When_ Chris pulls through," Jill said, wishing that the words were not so difficult to speak. "We will probably set a date for the wedding. I'll make sure that you get an invite."

Ada simply smiled in reply, and the turned away, leaving the world she had so briefly been a part of.

"I hope that everything works out for you," she wished, cringing at the sentiment. And then she was gone, not even the scent of her perfume lingering upon the air.

No sooner had the door closed, the little bundle in her arms began to move, the beginning tones of a cry choked out uncomfortably. Another attempt to lower her into the crib only ended with further protest.

In the end, she settled for bouncing her gently, hoping that she would settle.

'And what do we do now?'

The others were busy, her family living too far away to visit. And despite the good state of health that they both were in, they were bound to remain overnight.

The answer came to her as the baby whined again, uncomfortable no matter what she did. Fear was irrelevant; it was something that she had been delaying for far too long.

So she left, surprised to find that walking sufficed to silence the bundle. Nobody paid attention to her, as quiet as the hallways were. But the shadow of the previous night followed her, threatened to blanket them both. Stress, crushing in on all sides, and the grief that she prayed would just end.

Her hands trembled when she approached Chris' room, uncertain of what she faced. The door was open, propped as wide as it would stretch, but she paused stubbornly, turning away as her suffering heart struggled to beat.

'You need to do this,' she urged herself. 'Forget your fear; she needs to see him.'

Deep breaths were drawn, and with a sudden burst of resolve, she turned again, marched up to the door...

But Chris was not there. Nobody was there. The sheets were clean, machines silent. No clipboard hung from the bed, no indentation remained in the pillows or the mattress. There was no evidence that he had ever been there.

The heart stopped, neighbouring lungs failing. Had she not held the centre of her universe in her arms, she was sure that she would have collapsed.

A quick check of the number told her that it was the correct room, the absence of life striking deeper than it should.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" asked a passing nurse, almost stepping between herself and the doorframe.

"Y-Yes," she stuttered. "The man in...in this room...Chris Redfield...where is he?"

The pause lasted barely a second, but it seemed to steal years from her life.

"Are you family?"

"I'm his fiancée. And...this is his daughter."

The bracelet on her wrist revealed itself as she shifted her grip, caught the nurse's eye. With a child so young, it was evident that she had not been a patient long.

"Has no-one told you?"

It was the expression that forced the first tear to fall; sympathy, as potent as she had ever seen it. And as she drew a shuddering breath, the nurse slowly shook her head, reached out to place a gentle hand against her arm.

"Follow me," she sighed.

The heart obliged, but legs seemed reluctant. Every stepped was forced, as though wading through water, out into the tide that would inevitably drown her. She comforted the girl with her embrace, but of course she had no sense of grief, could perhaps not even sense her mother's. The comfort was all her own.

'He's dead.'

Following the nurse, she was led deeper into the ICU, towards a cluster of rooms she had never before seen.

'Is this where they move the bodies?'

Each internal question stole a fragment of her sanity and she stopped as the nurse did, waited by the door that was held open.

"We needed the bed," the nurse explained with a smile. "This room is more appropriate for him. I'm sorry; someone should have informed you the moment his condition changed."

She wanted to run, wanted to forget everything and flee. Because as long as she remained ignorant, he remained with her. It was not that she did not want to say goodbye, but that she could not…she would not.

But reality would always be there, one step behind. Inevitably, it would catch up.

It took more courage than she had within her to step into the room, to witness the man that she loved, silent beneath the sheets. But something was different this time. There was a flush of colour to his cheeks, a definite rise and fall to his chest.

And then, blue eyes met.

The heart remained paralysed, demanded to know exactly what was going on. Jill did not know, but she smiled, exhaled air that had remained trapped within her lungs for far too long.

"You look...like hell," Chris wheezed, his smile more brilliant than it had ever been. And she laughed at his words, at the voice she had convinced herself would never again speak her name.

"You don't look too hot yourself," she laughed, finding that suddenly she could not stop. Because it would not have felt right had his first words been those of love. He had not the breath to waste to tell her that which she already knew.

Whatever words she had prepared to reveal upon the closure of the door became irrelevant. Somehow, in that simple gaze, everything was said, everything understood. It was perhaps for the best, because someone else chose to steal the moment, attention diverted from her for far too long. It was a squeak, little more. But eyes found what they had previously missed, what would have appeared to be a blanket-wrapped bundle from his perspective.

No explanations were necessary; he knew who she was.

"Would you like to meet your daughter?" she asked softly. The smile that now caused her cheeks to ache almost distorted her speech, but the disbelief in his eyes answered that which his voice did not.

"Can I...hold her?" he asked, before she had even drawn close. The girl in her arms suddenly opened her eyes, a new yet familiar sound audible to her.

Jill took in the equipment that surrounded the bed and the bandaging that was visible against his chest. She could see the padding around the highest wound, judged that there was enough room to set the small baby onto his chest without hurting him. So she did, slowly and gently, but apparently not carefully enough to satisfy her.

Chris hushed his daughter as she cried, kissing her forehead softly when she settled against his chest. Almost as suddenly as they had started, the cries faded into nothing, eager eyes attempting to find the source of her sudden comfort.

'She recognises his voice!'

It was his tears that encouraged hers, though for once she welcomed them. It had been so long since she had cried through sheer happiness and not misery, so long since she had been given reason to. Chris was alive, was awake to appreciate the result of his sacrifice, to hold his daughter as he should have done the moment she was born.

Given the multitude of reasons, she was unsure if the tears would ever stop this time. And for the first time in so long, she did not want them to.

"Jill, she's..."

"I know."

She wiped away the tears that had begun to drip down the nasal cannula, smoothed back hair that seemed more stubborn than he sometimes. All the while, his attention remained with the youngest addition to the Redfield family, to the eyes that seemed to question him, and the hand that- yes, once again gravitated towards her mouth.

"Hey, little girl," he whispered. "Do you know...who I am?"

Jill bowed her head, willed her tears not to turn sour. She was not a fool; she could see how much difficulty the simple act of breathing presented to him. He could not string more than a few words together without gasping for breath. And she knew that he would not admit that he was in pain, not to her.

"How old is she?" Even his speech was a wheeze, eyes reflecting fear that he would never vocalise.

"Not even half a day."

Something compelled her to speak, forced her fears out into the open.

"We thought... God, Chris, we thought you'd never pull through," she sobbed. "I just wanted you to wake up. I wanted you to see her."

His eyes darkened, tears dried. Somehow, he understood. Losing one another was simply not an option anymore. 'Attached at the hip' was once a joke used to describe them, but now it was the story of their life; one would not perish without taking at least part of the other with them. And Chris' potential loss had been much the same as hers; he had almost lost the opportunity to be a father, and the years that he would spend with their daughter. He had almost missed out on knowing this beautiful girl, who already had a personality all of her own.

"Kiss me." It was not a request, but fell short of an order. It was a statement of what he needed, of what he knew that she needed also. And so she obliged.

He tasted different; a metallic tang tainted his tongue. But she did not care. Fingertips buried deep into his hair, lips expressing the need that she felt for him and for the life he had returned to. She had always been sure of her love for him, but now she knew that she needed him in so many other ways. As long as he remained here, as long as breath remained in those lungs, her world would keep on turning.

Laughter spilled from his lips, breaking the contact.

"That…tickles," he chuckled, grinning down at their baby. Miniature fingertips brushed along his skin as her hands curled around the bandage.

Jill laughed quietly as she slipped a finger beneath the baby's palm, offering it as a substitute. Their eyes met, and her heart ached for the girl, love pulling her lips to a cheek, to plant a tender kiss upon flushed skin.

"Claire," Chris breathed, suddenly disconnected from the moment. "Is...she okay?"

The worry in his eyes was deep and profound, and she brought her free hand to his hair, softly stroking as she smiled.

"She's fine. Everyone is going to be okay."

"And you?"

"I am now."

Moisture against her finger stole the moment before it began and she laughed uncontrollably, pulling her finger away from their daughter's mouth.

"What...is she doing?" Chris asked, trying his hardest to suppress laughter.

"I have no idea!" she wheezed, tears spilling once again. "She keeps doing it. The baby books say it's a sign that she is hungry but I just fed her!"

Another moment had found them, caught all three in its purity. It was a sense of family that she had never felt before, did not quite understand. All she knew was that she loved this girl as much as she loved the man who held her, and that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with them, filling each day with the most mundane yet thrilling activities.

"I love you, Grace, you...strange little girl," he chuckled.

The name stole her breath, and he sensed it almost immediately. Grace; the name so perfect it had belonged to her from the first utterance.

"Did...you give her...another name?" He was worried, and she hoped that her soft smile would be enough to reassure him.

"No." The smiled lingered. "I couldn't name her without you. I _wouldn't_. You are the first to say her name."

She could have given him diamonds, could have bestowed upon him the wealth of every nation on Earth and the gratitude within his eyes would not have been so potent. This meant more to him than anything ever had.

"Grace Redfield," she chuckled. "Mommy was right. Everything is going to be okay."

And this time, it was not merely hope.

**AN - Please review :)**


	23. Training Wheels

**AN** - A little late again, but it's done! There are just two chapters and the epilogue left now. It feels little strange to be this close to the end because it feels as though I've been writing this forever ^_^.

Thank you to everyone for your continued support. Not only was last chapter the most reviewed chapter of the story so far but this story is now my most reviewed story on the site! Thank you all so much! _Skiptrix, Xhian, Kenshin13, C. Redfield, Badger, tek, Metalmark, .-SnipingWolf, x-Artichoke-x, USWeasilgirl, Rose Makayla Black, ebonyxivory777, j. redfield, IntangibleHope, Chocolate milkahh, sophie623, Gunslinger Nurse, xSummonerYunax, Ninja-Gnome, Ryoko Metallium,_ and _Raidenlover6._ Thank you all!

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Twenty-Two_**_ - Training Wheels_

_'A man travels the world over in search of what he needs,__  
__and returns home to find it.'__  
_~George Moore~

**_April 2 2010, 11:00am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Jill found that a routine had fallen into place without her knowledge; a pattern of activity that saw her through every morning. It made the sudden rush of family life easier to adjust to. She had no idea where she had gotten the silly notion that she could play it by ear and take things as they came, because it was a concept that simply would not work in reality.

She would rise at eight am every morning, or as close to the hour as Grace saw fit to wake her. She would feed, change and dress her daughter as applicable, leaving Chris to continue slumbering. It was his own fault that he could not sleep through the night; it was his insistence that Jill and the baby remain in the master bedroom, that it would do him no harm to have them nearby - quite the opposite, really. Not only had she been afraid of knocking him in her sleep, but she also feared that constantly interrupted slumber would be detrimental to his recovery.

_"Honey,"_ he had told her, frankly, and with a smile playing upon his lips. _"Have you heard her cry? Wherever in the house she sleeps, she's going to wake me up."_

And as it transpired, she need not have worried about assaulting him in her sleep; exhaustion had proven so powerful that she would wake in more or less the same position that she had laid down in, thoroughly involved in a process that bore more similarities to a coma than regular sleep. Who knew that motherhood was so tiring?

She would continue to hold Grace, singing to her as she went about the usual morning chores. And then she would return to the master bedroom, would wake Chris and sit with them as they entertained their daughter, waiting for sleep to once again get the better of her. Whenever she cried for attention, she would always ensure that he was there; his virtually incapacitated state meant that the time he spent with the girl was more restricted than it should have been, and so she wanted him to be there whenever he could.

Grace would sleep, and she would tend to Chris, changing his bandages, cleaning and inspecting the wounds - one to the left side of his chest, one to the right of his abdomen and another on his right thigh - and then helping him dress before she dressed herself. Then, she would help him downstairs to the comfortable armchair in the lounge, as the doctor had advised that she do. She would bring him breakfast and his pain medication, and then she would fall back onto the sofa, stealing a few minutes to talk with him as they both ate.

The rest of the day fell into place around chores, visitors, Chris' needs, and the demands of a newborn baby.

But not today. Today, she was going out.

_"I'm not taking no for an answer!"_ Claire had warned her. _"One way or another, we're getting you out of that house!"_

The usual routine had deviated once Chris's bandages had been changed. She left him to doze for another half an hour as she picked out a flattering outfit to wear and applied a little makeup - just enough to hide the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her hair remained much as it had throughout her pregnancy; thick, soft and easy to style. The usual habit was to pull it back into a low ponytail but today she allowed it to hang loose, even taking a curling iron to it to add a little volume.

And then she had retreated back downstairs, setting up everything that Grace would need throughout the day.

'And you need to set out Chris' medication,' she reminded herself. 'You don't know how long you will be out and-'

Jill sighed as she shook lingering thoughts from her mind. So much time was spent taking care of the two most important people in her life that she rarely found a moment to herself.

'Don't complain,' she warned herself. 'You love them, and they need this.'

But that did not stop the exhaustion, did not change the fact that she simply did not know how much longer she could cope before both body and mind broke down.

Chris tried to help, but the fact was that he was recovering from life-threatening injuries and there were things that he simply could not do. Truth be told, she did not mind caring for him or tending to their daughter's every need; the responsibilities filled her with a deeply satisfying sense of pride and happiness. She only wished that between fiancé and baby she could find time to wind down and relax.

_Chris seemed anxious as he perched on the edge of the mattress, breaths steady but still shallow. The doctor had assured them both that it was not a permanent effect of his injuries, but that recovery was not an overnight process. But the wounds were clean and healing well, and hospital staff had already expressed surprise at how well he was recovering, given the seriousness of his injuries. One week in hospital, and finally they were allowing him to return home._

_"Who is looking after Grace?" he asked._

_"Barry and Kathy."_

_"Is Billy still at ours?"_

_Jill chuckled quietly to herself. Anyone could tell that he disliked being confined to a hospital room; a lot was happening, and he felt as though he was missing out on it all._

_She had visited every day, working shifts with Claire and the others so that he did not feel alone. She would have remained with him every second of visiting hours had it not been for the baby. But she always came with her, and the nurses had even brought in a spare crib so that she could sleep comfortably._

_"He found a place of his own in D.C., a few blocks away from Leon. But enough about him. Are you feeling better today?"_

_Chris nodded slowly, but gave no verbal reply. He seemed a lot quieter lately and often distant. She always tried to maintain a smile when she saw him, always on hand to comfort should he choose to open up._

_Suddenly, his hand caught her wrist, pulled her into him. The arms that wound around her held her tight, almost desperately. And he rested his head against her chest, no words to offer. She could feel every unspoken sentiment in his embrace, and so she held him back equally as tight, resting a cheek against the top of his head. It felt so good to feel him again, and not merely dream. A week in the hospital had stolen the scent of his shampoo from his hair, but she could smell _him_. Scents were never present in dreams, and so it was the most precious detail to her. She may obsess over it a little too much, but it was familiarity that could not be faked._

_"It's the breasts, isn't it?" she sighed. She was surprised that he had not previously mentioned them. After all, the growth was hardly unnoticeable._

_"Well," he mumbled. "They _are_ nice."_

_Laughter broke the sentiment of the moment, and she took the opportunity to pull back and lower herself onto the bed beside him._

_"I love every part of you, Jill Valentine," he sighed, a drunken smile almost catching her off-guard._

_"You wouldn't love some if you could see them," she chuckled bitterly._

_"Stop it," he warned. "Baby, I'm going to be covered in scars by the end of this. Three from the bullets, and one from the surgery; _I _should be the one with issues here. I still don't see what the point in that damn tube was but hey, I'm not a doctor."_

_"That tube," she pointed out, rolling her eyes. "Was there to inflate your lung. Without it, you would-"_

_No. It was too early to joke. Comfort exchanged between the two was mutual, acknowledging what could have happened, and thankful beyond measure that it did not._

_"We will have matching scars," Chris told her, pulling the conversation back to safe ground._

_Jill smiled as she considered the position of the wound to his thigh; it may have been on the opposite leg, but it was in more or less the same position as a faded right scar on her left thigh. It was the result of captivity at the hands of Nicholai Ginovaef; a wound inflicted to bring pain to Chris's heart. The only scars that remained noticeable on her body were those on her chest. She wondered if his would also fade over time._

_Memories of pain resurfaced. A single shot to the leg was all that she had suffered and it hurt like hell. With two more wounds, the pain that must have afflicted his body echoed in her heart._

_Before she could reply, the doctor returned, careful not to clip the door with the wheelchair that he pushed._

_"What is this?" Chris demanded. She sensed his concern, felt the fear that the sight stirred within him._

_"We can't have you putting pressure on that leg," the doctor told him. "This is only temporary, but for the next few days you're going to have to use a wheelchair if you want to move around."_

_"Like hell I am!" he growled. "Just give me some crutches. Isn't that the usual treatment?"_

_Jill placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it seemed to have no effect._

_"It is," the doctor frowned. "But the risk crutches would present to your other injuries is too great. It is possible that the strain could rip open the stitches. Trust me, this is much safer."_

_Chris eyed the chair as though it were made of fire, and then looked to her for support. And she could see the reluctance in his eyes; submitting to such a thing would mean admitting weakness, and that was something he never did, not when it came to the physical._

_"It's okay," she assured him gently, pressing her lips to his cheek. "Please, Chris. What will Grace do if her daddy ends up back in the hospital? You know that she would miss you; she loves you."_

_It was a cruel tactic, but she was willing to try anything._

_With exaggerated reluctance, he lowered himself to the floor and limped to the chair, casting it a look of pure hatred before he allowed both Jill and the doctor to help him down into it._

_He wore the expression of an unimpressed child as he adjusted to the apparatus._

_"I'll take it from here," she told the doctor, hoping that it would lessen the sting of what she knew her fiancé would take as a blow to his manhood. To know that he was not capable of walking without aid would have come as a huge blow to his ego._

_As she pushed, she felt that it was perhaps a smart move to have taken his bag to the car earlier. He was not heavy, nor impossible to move, but her body still recovered from childbirth and as such, she felt a lot weaker than she was used to._

_Sympathy brought her to pause by the door, to lean down, lips brushing against his ear. His hair was soft against her cheek and her nose as she delivered a truth that he deserved to know._

_"You are a hero, Chris. You are more of a man than anyone I have ever known. Nothing will _ever_ change that."_

The emotional issues had not all been hers. The lack of regular gym sessions meant that he had begun to lose muscle tone. The pounds had dropped off since his admission to hospital, but enough remained to ensure that his sudden lack of a Hulk-like physique was noticeable. She had never thought that Chris Redfield would ever struggle with self-esteem issues, but she recognised what she saw. Strength seemed equal to masculinity in his eyes, and suddenly it all seemed to be slipping away from him.

'If he thinks he looks fat, what must he think of me?'

It was the first day since her own return home that she had squeezed herself into something a little more flattering than sweatpants and pyjamas, and already she was beginning to regret it. The flowing empire-waist top that she wore disguised most of the damage, but her jeans were stubbornly tight even with control shorts underneath. And of course, her breasts strained against a once comfortable item of clothing, causing her to feel somewhat underdressed.

"Why would anyone pay for these?" she groaned, tugging on the fabric in an attempt to cover a little more flesh.

"I prefer natural."

She jumped at the sound of Chris' voice, heart attempting to flee up her oesophagus.

"What the hell are you doing?" she screeched. "Did- Did you walk down on your own?"

"I did," he announced proudly. "It hurt a little but hey, I can do it!"

Ability was not the point. If he had tripped and fallen, he would end up back in hospital, and she told him so.

"Don't even start," he warned. "You're leaving me here all day and we have no downstairs bathroom. I'm gonna be tackling them at some point. Don't even think about staying home. You need this, and we both know that."

He did not want her to worry about him, but worry was all that she did. Grace was not the only Redfield she needed to take care of, and she could think of a dozen stupid things that Chris could do and Grace would not (or could not).

But her body screamed that she needed to get away from it all, even if only for an hour or two.

And then came the guilt.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" she asked.

He replied with a chaste kiss, and suddenly she wondered why she had asked. To Chris, it was the opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with his daughter; he needed this as much as she did.

"I have everything she or I could need down here," he assured her. "Well, with the exception of her mother, but we'll be okay without her for a little while. Besides, Jenna went back to work this week; Nathan said he'd bring Sam round for a little while. So it's not like I'm going to be left on my own."

Jill smirked, wishing that she could witness such a meeting. Two fathers and their infant children. It was entirely likely that they would spend all day playing Call of Duty while their children slept, but the idea was touching.

"Okay then," she sighed, finally warming to the idea. "I'll bring her down and then...I'll be on my way. If there are any problems, call me."

* * *

**_April 2 2010, 11:45am. Washington D.C._**

"She's not coming, is she?" Rebecca sighed, leaning back in her chair.

It was a beautiful day; warm and sunny, with a comforting breeze. For the first time in months, they had chosen the outside seating of their regular café, basking in what they hoped was the beginning of a glorious season.

"Give her time," Claire smiled. "You know what she is like; chances are, she picked Grace up and just lost track of the time."

The thought brought a warm smile to Rebecca's lips. She had often thought that true happiness would never find its way back to the group, but it had...in the form of a little girl. Jill had never been so happy, Chris never so proud. They all loved Grace as though she was family. Through all the years of fighting, none of them had ever truly expected a child to enter their world. Born to a couple who had always wanted a family of their own but had never truly believed it to be possible, Grace Redfield was truly a little miracle.

Glancing over Claire's shoulder, Rebecca saw their friend approach, brushing hair out of her face.

"Sorry I'm late," Jill sighed, appearing flustered as she lowered herself into the vacant chair at Claire's side.

The younger woman eyed her as she settled, raising her eyebrows quizzically.

"There is no way that you gave birth two weeks ago," she accused amicably.

A blush appeared on Jill's cheek and she waved a hand as though to brush away the compliment.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she sighed. "Control pants; that's all it is."

The smile that she offered did not meet her eyes, and she slumped into the chair, gaze falling to the table. Jill was always confident in her posture, was always the person to start a conversation. Rebecca barely recognised this exhausted woman, who appeared more likely to fall asleep where she sat than accompany them on the day they had planned.

Then again, that was why she was here, why _they_ were here.

"How is Chris?" Rebecca asked. It was more than mere formality; with the V-17 vaccine shipped out that very morning, she had been far too busy to visit.

"He's...doing better," Jill hummed, changing her position to sit upright and move forward, resting her arms and elbows on the table.

"And you?" It was Claire who spoke this time, attempting to maintain her calm expression. This question was the formality; they all knew how home life had been, whether or not she would admit the truth.

But the months of therapy that she had undergone following her return fromAfricahad made her an altogether more open person. At the very least, she would not hide her problems from her friends.

Tears were already threatening to slip, eyes reddening while a chewed lip trembled.

"Not so good, to be honest," she admitted. She raised a hand to her eyes, attempting to smudge the tears back where they came from. "I'm not cut out to be a mother."

Claire's troubled eyes met Rebecca's, and a mutual thought passed between the two. Grace was her whole world, her reason for being. They had never known a mother love a child as deeply as Jill and Chris loved theirs. And love was not something that Jill gave up on easily; even in her darkest days, she had clung to Chris with every ounce of strength left within her.

"I think we all know that's not true," Rebecca assured her, reaching out to hold her hand. But it pulled back, and she was left wondering just what exactly had brought her here today; was it the desire to take a day off from her family or the desire to spend time with her friends? One was perfectly understandable; the other could hint at a deeper problem.

"I can't take care of her!" Jill insisted, her voice almost a growl. Tears had cut through her defences now, but she batted them away stubbornly. "Last week, I rested on the sofa, putting my feet up for ten minutes...just _ten minutes_! But I fell asleep, and...when I woke, Grace was screaming, and Chris was shouting my name; I've never heard him so upset! She was hungry, and he couldn't carry her downstairs...so he shouted for me, but I didn't hear either of them. She was screaming for so long...she needed me! And I couldn't...I wasn't there for her. What if they couldn't wake me up? What if something happened to her?"

Her distress was genuine, the terror in her eyes greater than Rebecca had ever seen. Her heart bled for her friend, and it was all that she could do to choke back tears of her own. Nobody had expected this to be easy, not with Chris' condition, but she had not once asked for help. Perhaps she was too proud?

"Jill, you are an _amazing_ mother," Claire smiled, pulling her in for an awkward embrace. "No-one can blame you for being a little exhausted; you've taken on a lot. It doesn't mean that you're a bad mother; it means that you're _human_. You just need to take a break once in a while."

"Which is why we brought you here today," Rebecca told her, sympathetic smile morphing into a knowing smirk.

It was enough to dry the tears, if only temporarily. With confusion in her eyes, Jill looked to each of her friends, evidently sensing that something beyond her understanding was occurring.

"Chris called," Claire explained. "He's worried about you, and since you've been hiding everything from us, he thought that we should know. He figured that we would want to help if we did...and we do, Jill. You should have asked for our help from the start!"

The older woman blinked, shocked into silence.

"I have taken a week off work - don't look at me like that, I have days to use before the end of the month," Claire continued. "I'm going to stay with you for a few days and I'm going to take care of Chris, so that you can focus on the baby. If you need me to stay longer, I will, but I will be there whenever you need me."

"And I'll help out when I can," Rebecca added. "With the vaccine completed, my workload is light and I've been given roughly two week's paid leave. So if you need to get away from things or if you need someone to take Grace for a couple of hours, or even just someone to help out around the house, all you have to do is call."

There were no words to express the gratitude in her eyes, and the haste with which she accepted their offers told them that their concern was not misplaced.

"You need to see a doctor, too," Claire requested. "With your medical history...well, feeling the way you do may not be down to exhaustion. It could be-"

"Post-natal depression?" Jill questioned. "No...I'm seeing Dr. Keller again and she told me that it's just exhaustion, but she wants to keep an eye on me. But thank you for your concern."

She smiled as she dabbed the last of the tears from her eyes.

"Hey!" Claire exclaimed, suddenly reaching beneath the tale for her purse. "I almost forgot!"

Jill watched as she retrieved a pamphlet, barely catching a slip of paper that fell from its folds.

"Chris thought that you wouldn't take the opportunity to wind down if we were shopping, so...he booked us into a spa for a few hours."

"No!" Jill gasped, checking every surface of the pamphlet. "This is the spa he sent me to for my birthday! Do you have any idea how expensive this place is?"

"Yeah..." Claire sighed. "WhenLeonfound out what he was planning to do, he paid for me. And Billy paid for Rebecca, so-"

Always more than happy to watch the world unfold around her, Rebecca was suddenly pulled back into the heat of the conversation.

"Wait, what?"

Surely she had misheard. Because Jill was right; this spa was expensive. She had barely been afforded the opportunity to speak with him these past two weeks, and contact had been limited to a series of text messages and emails. They were barely friends, and he had little money to his name.

"Don't believe me?" Claire smirked. "Ask him yourself."

Rebecca jumped when a hand touched upon her shoulder. She could almost sense him there in a manner that surpassed the given five. Afraid to turn, she met eyes with Jill, pleading silently for an excuse.

"Come on, Jill," Claire laughed. "I want to do a little shopping before the spa. We'll meet you there, Rebecca."

She stuttered uselessly, struggling to find words.

"I- I have to go too," she told Billy, finally finding the courage to turn. "Jill is...she's upset, I'm sure-"

"No I'm not. Hormones; that's- _Ouch_, Claire! I'm coming!"

And then they were gone, leaving nothing but a whirlwind of napkins and cutlery in their wake.

She was tense as Billy settled into the chair at her side, though she did not quite know why. Something about him made her very soul tremble.

It did not help that he looked better than he ever had. Hair that had previously rivalledForest's in length was now trimmed, stubble absent. And the bruises that had once coloured his body had faded, the yellowing remains of some hidden by a clean white shirt.

"I saw you from across the street," he smirked. "You seem to be avoiding meeting up with me, so...well, I thought I'd be proactive."

An insistent man would usually elicit nothing more than a roll of the eyes and a laugh that told him plainly "It's not going to happen, so leave me be", but Billy brought a lump to her throat and pain to her lungs, with the added sensation of her heart attempting to hammer its point home.

Because what she felt for him was not platonic. Whatever it was, she had not felt the likes of it before, and it _terrified_ her. She was always the 'good girl', always the one who would cringe at her friends' crude talk. Yet at that moment, she could think of nothing but where those buttons would fly if she ripped that shirt off, and for how long she could have her wicked way with him right there in the café before someone called the cops.

'This isn't like you!' she scolded herself.

But what was the alternative? To wish that she would simply fall asleep in his arms, comfortable on the sofa as they watched the end of a movie neither cared that much about. Because that was how she truly felt and the less sexual of the two scenarios was surprisingly the more disturbing.

"Do you have a problem with me?" he asked. His fingers played nervously with the edge of a saucer, eyes deliberately kept from hers. "Because if my staying here is making you uncomfortable, I'll leave. Our past isn't exactly a happy one; I wouldn't blame you for wanting to leave it all behind."

"Please don't think that," she begged. Her voice barely broke a whisper. "A lot is happening right now. The vaccine is finally being shipped out, Jill is back, Chris is injured, and on top of everything else, there is a baby among us now."

Billy leaned back in his chair, finally turning to her. It was an unfair move, she realised; those eyes were the most potent truth serum she had ever encountered.

"Please don't lie to me, Rebecca."

"Alright!" Defensiveness; the truth would slip from her lips even if she tried to prevent it. "It's odd, Billy, that's all. It has been almost twelve years and you didn't even try to get in touch! After all that time, why do you want to stay? Why now?"

"I did try," he explained, apparently riled by her words and struggling to remain calm. "After I was pardoned, I sought you out as soon as I was settled. You had a boyfriend, and...you looked so happy. I didn't want to step back into your life and remind you of that night."

If anything, his words only furthered her anger.

"It wasn't just one night! I fought for justice for _five years_ before settling down! That night was just the beginning! I _worried_ about you! The least you could have done was let me know that you were okay; I risked _jail_ for you! And in return, you fake your own death and forget about me."

"I never forgot about you!" he roared. Fellow customers turned to them, and for a moment they both sat in silence, waiting for attention to divert. "I thought about you every night on the run and every night ever since. I tried to make something of myself, I try to have a healthy relationship, but instead I dated the wrong girl and her fiancé burned down my apartment block, murdering innocent people for the sake of revenge. I went into hiding again because I was ashamed of the effect I have on the lives of those around me. I didn't seek you out even then because I was afraid that something would happen to you too."

The breeze washed over her and Rebecca sighed, torn between happiness at his truthfulness and residual anger.

"I would have been fine if you'd sent that USB drive to someone else," she pointed out, smiling to highlight the joke.

And he laughed too, shoulders relaxing as their meeting inevitably found its way to amicable ground.

"You are the only person I could trust with it."

There was something in his voice that calmed her, that told her how deep his trust in her ran. Anger melted away, her true feelings untouched. Because no matter what he said or did, she knew that she wanted to be with him, wanted to be more than friends. She had never felt so strongly about anything in her life.

But she was a cautious woman, and shy beneath it all. Always timid in matters of relationships, she knew that she would never make the first move.

"I want to get to know you," Billy told her. "Properly."

The answer was always no. She never meant it; it was a defence mechanism, out of her control. But her heart shrugged this one off with an utterance of "What the hell?".

"So what were we up to?" she smiled. "Favourite movies?"

* * *

**_April 2 2010, 4:45pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Chris stifled a yawn as he braced himself against the kitchen counter for support. Oversleeping that morning seemed to have had the opposite effect on him than usual. Or perhaps it was the freedom to do a little more than lounge around playing videogames, watching television and kissing Jill all day. Not that he was complaining about the last part, but it was nice to actually feel productive for once.

He seemed to feel more energetic today, and the pain had faded to a level that allowed him to function as he used to. As such, aside from caring for his infant daughter all day, he had succeeded in his endeavour to take on the day's household chores so that Jill did not have to.

Checking the temperature of the bottled milk, he could not help but smile. A day alone with his daughter had been better therapy than any doctor could offer. It was a day of getting to know her and all of her little quirks. The way she would not tear her eyes away from his so long as he looked down at her, how she would turn into the warmth of his body as he held her, willing to fall sleep in his arms but not, it seemed, in her basket. And she would make the sweetest noises when he kissed her, stroked her cheek or even simply spoke to her.

Even so, he was finding that there were still things that he could not do. Tummy time ended in disaster when he found that it took greater effort than expected to push himself up off the floor, especially when laughter kicked in. It was fortunate that Grace seemed to enjoy this time, otherwise a light-hearted situation could have been disastrous. If she could laugh, he was sure that she would have.

Her cry reached him as he threw a towel over his shoulder, just in time. A feed was due, but he knew better than to wake a sleeping baby.

She settled as he took her into his arms, once again amazed at how small she appeared against what remained of his muscular frame.

'You'll get it back,' he assured himself. 'It's only muscle.'

All thought was stolen from him as he held the bottle to her lips, watching her feed as a tiny hand reached up to press against glass. She had not fed from a bottle many times, but had taken to it so easily. Jill preferred to feed her herself, but always kept spare milk in the refrigerator in case of an emergency. She would never admit it, but he knew that sometimes she lied about feeling 'too tired' or 'too sore' just so that he could feed her.

Surprisingly, she drank most of the bottle before making it clear that she was finished; her appetite was healthy but quite often she would drink less when fed from a bottle.

Chris did not know why he was so hung up on these little details, why he could spend so long thinking about the most innocuous thing. All of his life, he had looked forward to fatherhood and now that he was a father, it was nothing like he had anticipated. Because he had never expected to fall so deeply in love, to feel such a powerful bond with someone he had only met a couple of weeks ago. What he felt for Claire had nothing on his love for his daughter; it was not a less powerful emotion, rather a different one entirely.

And his love for the girl's mother had only grown. He would spend the better part of his days watching her care for their child, witnessing her eyes light up whenever she held her in her arms. Grace was another part of him that she loved, another part of him that had found its way to her. And as he had always known it would, the fact that she was the mother of his child made the realisation of a lifelong dream that much more worthwhile.

But at what cost had their angel come? Jill thought that she cried in secret, but he always heard her. Sometimes he would comfort her, others he would be unable to do anything, the pain too great. She was wearing herself out, wasting away emotionally as she struggled to care for their baby and for his sorry ass. He had never wanted this, and the sentiment of her taking care of him was lost amidst guilt and shame.

Because she was barely holding on.

_Her smile faded the moment Grace was back in her Moses basket, though she tried to disguise the sadness that their baby's presence always seemed to chase away. Chris always loved to watch her nurse, to watch her play with their daughter as her troubles melted away if only for a little while. But today her happiness only made the inevitable crash that much more painful to witness._

_She left when she was sure that their baby was sleeping, without a word or even a glance to him. Already, he felt her sadness._

_Grace had begun to cry and the stairs were too great an obstacle for him to tackle with something so precious in his arms. Jill had been sleeping on the sofa, couldn't hear him call out for her. And the more Grace cried, the more upset he became, until she sprinted towards them, panicking as she took their baby daughter from his arms._

_The guest room was her only possible destination, the one furthest from the master bedroom, so that was where he headed, ignoring the searing pain of multiple wounds to be at her side._

Time had trickled past as he comforted her, rebuffing every painful suggestion that she was an unfit mother. She was anything but in his eyes, always so attentive and caring. But she was convinced, and nothing he said could change her mind. And the more he took her words to heart, the more upset she became.

Chris placed the bottle on the coffee table as Grace rested against his shoulder, before gently patting her back.

"I'm worried about mommy," he sighed, feeling the need to vocalise his words. "If I wouldn't miss you so much, I'd go back to hospital. Do you think they could send someone out?"

Then he chuckled, kissing her cheek as he continued to pat her back.

"What the hell am I saying? I'm asking someone who thinks it's cool to put their fingers up another person's nose."

Gently pulling her down into his arms once again, he sighed peacefully, dropping the clean towel onto the coffee table where the bottle remained.

Grace's eyes were on him as he swayed softly, hoping to lull her back to sleep. But the moment was too precious to waste, and he offered a finger, watched with a smile as she pulled it to her lips, suckling on the end. He could have remained that way forever, lost to the overwhelming feeling of wealth and warmth.

"You have stolen my heart, little girl," he sighed. "I never thought I'd love anyone as much as I love your mommy. I don't like being proven wrong, but I'll accept defeat for you. I will do anything for you. And when you grow up, I want you to remember that; I don't ever want you to be afraid to come to me if you need something."

She could not understand a word that he spoke, but it mattered to him that he told her.

"Your mommy is the most amazing woman in the world...but you already know that, right? She was so happy when she found out that we were expecting you. You mean the world to her, just like she does to me...and you do too. I know that she isn't herself right now, but I promise I'll take care of her too. She has made my life pretty damn special; I'm going to spend the rest of mine returning the favour...or at least trying to. Sometimes I wonder what she sees in a guy like me, but we're pretty damn lucky to have her. She deserves to be happy. We all do. And we will be, from now on."

And Chris Redfield did not make promises that he could not keep.

* * *

**_April 2 2010, 5:30pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

The effects of what Jill concluded was the most thorough massage she had ever received lingered even as she turned the key in the front door. It was amazing what one day of friendship and relaxation could do. She did not fear what lay on the other side of that door, and had actually skipped up the steps to their porch, desperate to see the faces that she loved.

There was silence within the house when she entered, but a smile found her lips soon after. Chris had fallen asleep, a book resting against the hand that had fallen onto his lap. And Grace slept quietly on his shoulder, his other hand holding her to his chest.

'I am the luckiest woman in the world,' she realised as she stealthily approached the two. Because the scene touched her heart in a manner that nothing ever had. The way his head tilted towards hers, the way her fingers still curled around the collar of his shirt; she knew love when she saw it. And it was moments like these that she had anticipated when pregnant, moments like these that made the years of struggling worthwhile.

Raising her cell phone, she snapped a quick picture. The moment would not last, but she wanted to be sure that the memory would. A gun had always blended into his physique, the knife that was always strapped to his shoulder as much a remnant of him as his smile. But nothing suited Chris more than a baby in his arms. Her baby. _Their_ baby.

Had concern not prevailed, she would have allowed them both to slumber, but his slumped posture could not have been easy on his healing wounds. She was gentle when she roused him, running her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips to his temple. He woke quietly, groaning as he turned his head.

"Welcome back, handsome," she grinned, unable to keep herself from stealing a true kiss, savouring the taste of him on her lips. Sometimes she forgot just how much she had missed him in her weeks of captivity.

"A full reboot, huh?" he chuckled. "It's good to see you smiling again."

She felt his words, felt the joy that said smile brought to his heart.

"I have you to thank for that. Truly, Chris. Thank you for today, for everything. All this time, I thought I was taking care of you...now I know it was the other way around."

With a kiss, he assured her that it was nothing, underestimating exactly how much his thoughtfulness meant to her. She should have expected such an act; when he himself was unable to cheer her up, he made sure that those who could did.

"How has she been?" she asked, reaching over to smooth down Grace's fine hair.

"Angelic," he smiled. "I don't mean to sound like a soppy parent, but I can't help it. Our baby girl is perfect. Just like her mom."

Letting out a quiet snort of laughter, she adjusted herself, ready to take their baby into her arms.

"You're far too soppy for your own good these days," she chuckled. "And as cute as you are together, you're going to have to move. This position isn't good for your back."

"My back is fine!" he complained. But he allowed her to take Grace anyway, the girl's protests more vocal than his. Suddenly missing the warmth of her father, she cried uncomfortably, and then stubbornly as Jill held her the way she knew that she loved.

"Is she feeding okay?" she asked, suddenly engrossed in the kisses she shared with her daughter. "How is the stump looking? Is-"

Chris laughed softly as he tenderly kissed her neck.

"She's okay," he assured her. "I'm okay. We're okay. And you will be too if you stop worrying about us."

Blushing, she nodded, remembering the promise she had made to herself. No stress, no matter what the situation. She wanted to cherish these days, not to spend the first year of their daughter's life lost in a state of depression.

Grace slept against her, at peace with herself and with the world. Lowering her into the basket was an easy feat, but leaving her was something else entirely.

But there were things to do, chores to finish.

"I cleaned the kitchen, by the way," Chris announced, dropping down onto the sofa. "And the lounge. So come here, baby; I missed you."

His words did not frighten her as she knew they should have. Always believing that he was capable of more than he actually was, he would not have taken his injuries into consideration. But instead, she saw through to the sentiment of the act, and once again found herself wondering exactly how the once immature Chris Redfield had grown into such a wonderful boyfriend...and why, of all the girls he could have had, he had chosen her.

"Thank you. But I should take a shower while I have the chance."

"Mind if I join you?"

The smirk betrayed her amusement, and the parts of her that truly wished for such a perfect moment. The fact that they had not made love in many weeks was frustratingly evident. But her body was recovering, as was his.

"You know you can't."

"Mind if I just watch?"

Laughter rang out this time, and somehow she found herself closer to him, cherishing the feel of his hands on her skin when they found her waist. Slowly, fingertips slipped beneath her top, and she allowed them to. The control pants had remained in her purse after the spa, and suddenly she was aware that nothing kept her post-pregnancy figure in shape save for muscle that was still in the process of tightening.

But Chris seemed not to care, slid his hands further up, following her spine to the strap of her bra and then back down again. Professional hands had administered the same care barely an hour ago, yet somehow this was more soothing. And the heat that rose within her brought with it a wave of delirium, bringing her fingers to his arms, tracing muscle to his neck before she lowered her lips to his, kissing him with ferocity that demanded attention.

Steady as they always were, his hands pulled on her waist, lowered her to his side, lips not once parting. There was little care for pain or for discomfort, only for each other. It may as well have been their first kiss, and both would have no regrets if it was their last.

With arms around his neck, Jill allowed her lips to slip from his as she stole a moment for air, but he continued, kissed along her jaw and down her neck, hands warm against the bare skin of her back.

She had missed this, more than she realised.

When he pulled away their eyes locked, and suddenly she found herself lost in a moment a decade since passed. She saw everything they had been, everything that they were, and everything that they would be. From the immature couple arguing over the most insignificant of subjects to proud parents; there was little doubt that the years had changed them. This was not something that she had envisioned their first night together in Raccoon, or their first night together as a couple, reluctant to leave the bed they would spend far too much time in over the following months. Yet here they were.

He stole another kiss, and her breath with it. His lips always felt so soft against her own, his passion true. And she felt it from her tongue to her toes, filling every corner of her body.

"Your lungs!" she warned, breathless as they parted. He laughed at this, kissed her forehead before pulling her into him, as though to demonstrate the insignificance of the pain.

"I thought I made it clear that I'd be making up for the time apart?"

She did not wish to get into another argument with him over guilt and blame, so she relaxed against him, content in his arms. Because in this moment, there was nothing calling her away, no tasks that demanded attention. It was just her, just them, and the moment that wished to be theirs.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, careful not to wake the sleeping baby. "My body isn't the only one to have gone through hell lately."

Smiling to herself, Jill considered his choice of words. Childbirth had been painful beyond belief, made worse by her decision to have a natural, drug-free birth. Even so, she could not recall the pain, only that she had cried for an epidural and almost physically assaulted the poor nurse when she was informed that it was too late. She had cried through the end of her labour, wanting Chris at her side, wishing that he was there to greet their daughter.

"I'm fine," she said. "Still a little sore but trust me, that's as much as you'd be comfortable knowing."

"I wish I could have been there."

It was not the first time he had expressed such a regret.

"Well maybe next time you hand someone your Kevlar vest, you'll know not to jump in front of them."

She felt him laugh, and she was glad that it was now something that they could joke about rather than fear.

"But thank you." She could not express the sentiment enough. "I'd say that I would have done the same had our positions been reversed, but you already know that."

_Cramp had settled into her legs, lungs refusing to draw air. Wesker was holding back; if he truly wanted them dead, they would be scattered around the room by now. He was toying with them, treating them as little more than playthings._

_But now, playtime was over. The hand that gripped Chris's throat was just a little too tight, the smirk upon Wesker's lips a little too final._

_"No!" she screamed._

_Her partner could barely move, struggled weakly against the hold. This whole operation had been a mess from the start, and the fight had not panned out the way they had hoped. Not a single blow, shot or slash had hit its target, yet their bodies were already broken. She knew the pain of fractured ribs, knew that she was not capable of holding him off for much longer._

_Truly, this was the night they would die._

_Wesker's hand pulled back, the fear in Chris's expression haunting her._

_'Not like this. Not like this!'_

_She moved, faster than her legs could take. They trembled beneath every step but she pushed on, reaching out. Weight was the only weapon she had left, and she used it against their enemy, saving her partner's life...saving the lover she could not live without._

_Shards of glass sliced past her, the rush of air audible as the ground disappeared from beneath her feet. Arms tightened around her enemy, her fate clear; if she was to fall, if she was to die, she wanted to be sure that she took him with her._

_Chris's cry rang out behind her, but Wesker was silent, flailing against the fall._

_Pain. Water engulfed her, ribs now two broken bones amongst many. And the light faded._

She had not considered her actions that night, had known that tackling Wesker would likely end the way it had but not truly realising it. All she had known was that Chris was in danger and that there was a way that she could save him. Whatever the consequences, she would deal with them later.

That was why she had not felt that she deserved the medal the BSAA had bestowed upon her for her 'selfless' act. They claimed that she had knowingly risked her life to save his, but her life had nothing to do with it, only his. She was sure that he had felt the exact same way in the facility.

"Let's hope that we never have to face these decisions again," Chris whispered. "Because honestly, I can't stand the thought of losing you or Grace. I love you both."

And they never would face those decisions again. Though she would not tell him, not yet, Jill knew that she was through with fighting. She had always sworn that she would throw in the towel if she ever had children; having lost her mother at a young age, she did not want her children to experience the same pain should anything happen to her. She had sworn to Grace that she would always be there for her, and she would. If she failed as a soldier, she could always start again with the next assignment. There were no second chances in parenthood; it was one job or the other, and she knew where her heart truly lay.

"You'll be there for the next birth," she assured him. "Being a mother is the best job I've ever had, and you can't keep your hands off me; it's inevitable."

The smile told her that it was something he had been hoping for, perhaps even something he had expected.

"I thought you were going to take a shower?"

Jill contemplated the arm around her shoulders, the warmth that she curled into. This was a moment that she could take to herself, or it was one that she could share with the man she loved. She rarely had the opportunity for either these days.

So she kissed him. Because family came first; it always did. And there was nowhere she would rather be than right there on the sofa with Chris.

"The shower can wait."

**AN - Please review :)**


	24. Closure

**AN** - Sorry again about the lateness. Things have been a little crazy lately. We are getting closer still to the end and I'm desperately trying to get all of the Billy/Rebecca details in before then! I didn't think that it made sense to rush into a relationship with them when they have only just been reunited, so things are a little slow but I assure you they get their fair share of action before the story is over ;). Chapter title is from a song by Dommin.

I'm running out of ways to say thank you to all of you lovely people who reviewed, but I'm still going to say it! **_sophie623, C. Redfield 86, USWeasilgirl, tek, Chocolate milkahh, Kenshin13, Metalmark, Rose Makayla Black, Ninja-Gnome, Gunslinger Nurse, xSummonerYunax, x-Artichoke-x, .kess,_** and **_.-SnipingWolf_** - thank you! I will try to make sure that the next update is on time!

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Twenty-Three_**_ - Closure_

_'Now I don't hold any hate, and I don't regret my mistakes.__  
__I'm learning to grow from the things that hurt me so.'_

**_April 9, 2010. 10:30am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Jill had often wondered how Grace would take to water. Sponge baths had been easy, with the distraction of new sights and a new sensation calming her until it was over. But now the umbilical stump was gone, and for the first time, she was able to bathe her newborn daughter.

Strangely, she seemed to enjoy the experience, watching her mother with wide eyes as warm water cleansed soft skin. And she sang, humming a song that she had heard on the radio that morning. Grace seemed to like it when she sang, so she found herself doing it more often these days.

Chris watched her silently, perhaps too afraid to speak up and offer assistance. But she was soon finished, and lifted Grace out of the small tub, onto the waiting towel. For the first time since the move, she appreciated the size of their main bathroom, and where she had previously laughed at the abundance of surfaces, now she greatly welcomed them. The temperature was more easily maintained in this room, making it an ideal location to bathe a baby.

Gently, she wrapped the towel around her baby girl before taking her gently into her arms, holding her head above the small tub.

"Do you want to wash her hair?" she asked, smiling at Chris and hoping that fear would not hold him back. She wanted him to experience moments like this while they still could.

His fingers were around the cup before she could express her happiness at his nod, dipping it into the water before pouring it carefully over Grace's fine hair. She watched at he shampooed, combed and rinsed, feeling Grace move in her arms but not making a sound.

"Wow," she gushed when she laid her down onto her hooded towel, beginning to gently pat her dry. "You are such a good girl! Mommy is so proud of you!"

Big blue eyes looked up at her, small fingers curling around the towel. And she bent down to kiss a bare belly, and then a nose, relishing in the sounds the girl emitted.

"And daddy is proud of both his girls," Chris hummed, kissing his fiancée's cheek as he handed her clean clothing for their baby.

Jill grinned, feeling every inch of it for once. The last week had been nigh on perfect; with Claire and Rebecca taking on most of the excess chores, she found that she could spend time with Grace and her mind would be solely on her daughter and not the million and one chores that she needed to find time for. Even Chris seemed happier these days.

Claire doted on her niece, as they always knew that she would. While Chris was now well enough to care for himself and his child without supervision, she still dropped by when Jill was out. And when she discovered that Jill had an appointment with Dr. Keller that very afternoon, she offered her services before they were even requested. Jill was only too happy to oblige; Leon would likely accompany her, and judging by Chris's increasingly soppy attitude, it would do him good to have a little testosterone in his company for once.

Grace was quickly dressed and lifted into Jill's arms, head resting gently against her bosom. Family life had all but consumed her thoughts, and so little attention was paid to the fact that she was now on maternity leave, with Chris taking leave for health-related circumstances; once again, they were active members of the BSAA. Many a phone call had been exchanged between herself and the Human Resources department, but Chris remained in the dark, hoping for the best as he always did.

"I've spoken to the BSAA," she told him. If there was ever an ideal moment to discuss work, it was when he was already in a good mood and likely to take bad news well. "I...I've decided that I'm not going back, not as an agent at least."

His eyes fell to the reason and he nodded. Had she not known she must have been mistaken, she would have sworn that she saw his lips twist into a gentle smile.

"Before Grace was born, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do," he told her, voice soft but sure of the words that it spoke. A hand reached out, fingertips finding his daughter's hand as he moved closer to them both. "I haven't felt a lot of fight in me since Africa, but the BSAA is my life. I've fought so long that I can't picture myself doing anything else. But I'm sure of it now, if not because of my injuries then because of her. I want to give her a good life; I can't do that if I'm always somewhere else, or if I get reckless and she has to grow up without a father."

Tears pushed against her defences as she acknowledged his words. She had not felt the same since her captivity. Her body felt as a weapon now, not a tool of enforcement. So much death had surrounded her, so much pain; above everything, she wished that her daughter would live a life free of the horrors that had plagued her own. She was not a soldier anymore, she was a mother; it was a role with many similarities, but her heart and her priorities were now with one little girl, and a man she loved more than anything in this world.

"I actually called them myself," Chris chuckled. "They told me that they can't reinstate me as an agent because of my injuries. I took that to mean that this is where I should be."

"So everything works out in the end?" she smiled. "They offered us both training positions. We will have our own offices, supervisory responsibilities, and we will assist in the planning and preparation of assignments. Our salary will remain the same and the benefits are nothing to be sniffed at. I already accepted; they're waiting on your call."

The light that flickered in his eyes told her that he was more than happy with this arrangement.

"Our own offices, huh?" he questioned suggestively, moving his hands to slide up her back. You know, that's always been a fantasy of mine."

Slithering from his hold, she cast him a warning glare, but the idea remained in her mind, whispered temptingly to her. The less they talked about sex these days, the better.

But as always, he loved to hold her, especially when she held their daughter. She had lost count of the hours they had sat in silence, simply watching her sleep. With a hand returning to her waist, he ran gentle fingers across Grace's hair and Jill smiled when he kissed her. She moved against her mother's chest, letting out a soft sigh of contentment.

"We should take her to the park sometime," Jill sighed. "I know she's too young, but I think she would like the different sights and sounds. It would do you good to have a day out too."

"You always have the best ideas," he agreed. And he kissed her temple, his warmth overwhelming as she wished those lips would find her own.

But he pulled back suddenly, raising a hand to her hair. Confusion overcame her as he smoothed her hair down flat, the friction causing an uncomfortable tug.

"What the-"

"When was the last time you looked in the mirror?" he asked. "I mean, _really_ looked?"

She felt a blush to her cheeks as she considered the answer. Personal appearance had been of little concern to her lately. It appeared that he was not interested in excuses as he pressed a hand to her back and urged her towards the mirror. And he waited, smiling for a reason she could not yet discern. She took in every inch of her reflection, from her healthy complexion to the pale blonde hair that framed her face. Scars remained prominent against her chest, now white rather than pink.

"I don't-" she began. But Chris moved again, behind her this time as he smoothed down her hair once again.

"Look closer!" he urged.

And she did. And there it was. Barely noticeable, brunette lingered close to her scalp; it was a colour she had expected never to see again. Suddenly, she could not breathe. Blonde remained, some hairs yet to change, but it was there, and it was enough.

"This...this isn't...it's not possible!"

"The doctor said that it might happen," he reminded her, laughter colouring his words. "They didn't know what caused the change in the first place."

Cautiously removing a hand from her daughter's back, she parted her hair further back, found that the colour ran through, brunette roots far outnumbering the blonde.

And she recognised the reason as it moved against her chest. Hair was one of the many aspects of the body that pregnancy affected; hers had never been so thick or so smooth. It could not have been a coincidence that her natural colour returned when her body was slowly returning to normal.

The tears fell before she felt them; even the sobs came as a surprise. Because it was not a colour that she saw; it was hope. The remnants of her old life were shedding themselves, providing hope where she had thought that there was none. Blonde was a colour she could not reason with. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw Wesker and all that he had done to her. Blonde was his colour, it was a sign of her slavery. It was the one part of herself that she could not come to terms with.

"I guess this means it's finally over?" Chris suggested. His happiness was contagious, acting as a catalyst to her own; he knew what this meant to her, understood how she saw this sudden change in circumstances.

And she could see that he was right, not because of her hair or her health, but because of him, because of their daughter and because of their friends. Appearances did not matter, nor did scars or victories. What mattered was that beneath it all, beneath everything they had done and everything that had been done to them in turn, they remained the same, their friendship deeper than ever.

As long as Chris understood her the way he did, as long as he looked at her with the same respect and admiration she had seen in his eyes since their S.T.A.R.S. days, she knew that they had clinched the greatest victory of them all.

"Yes," she agreed, allowing the tears to fall freely. "I think it does."

* * *

**_April 9, 2010. 12:00pm. Washington, D.C._**

Billy chose the café this time. Rebecca had her complaints but she kept them to herself. The company was all that mattered.

Their meeting was casual this time, though she felt more excitement than she knew was appropriate. After a decade of wondering, finally he was here, and nothing held her back.

'Nothing but your own damn fear,' she sighed inwardly.

"The interview is next Thursday," Billy laughed, amused by her enthusiastic interest. "Can't say S.W.A.T. is where I envisioned myself ending up, but it's something at least."

"And after fighting for half your life, you can't picture yourself doing anything else," she surmised with a smile. "Chris holds the same mentality."

Billy smirked, nodding in agreement. It felt strange to her that they could talk about her friends and he would understand the more personal aspects of the conversation. She had never held any doubt over their welcoming nature, but he had fit right into the fold. Even Jill would allow him to hold Grace when they visited, signalling a trust that ran as deeply as it did with the others.

"Just be careful, okay?" she requested. "No playing hero."

"You know me well enough to know that's not possible."

And she did. He was a hero in both stature and personality, and she would not have wanted him to change for anything. But she did worry. Too often did she become sure of someone only to have circumstances pull them away.

"Tell Barry I said thanks. Finding a job isn't easy in this economy, especially not for someone like me."

Subconsciously, she reached across the table to take his hand, allowing the warmth of his skin to enter hers. His hands were scarred, but it was difficult to find a part of him that was not. One in particular ran across his right knuckle, almost fading into his pale complexion. She wondered just how many had been acquired in captivity, how many had been collected over the years, and indeed which were remnants of that one night in 1998.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

The question caught her off-guard and she was unable to hide the blush that came to her cheeks.

"It's a little blunt," he apologised. "But I just want to be sure."

He wanted to be sure? A smirk twisted her lips and she considered teasing him, but wit failed her.

"I'm...not good with guys," she admitted sheepishly. "I either scare them away or I'm the one to run away screaming."

"Confident on the battlefield but not in the bedroom? That's a damn good hook."

Rebecca's eyes widened and she pulled her hands away, sitting back in her chair.

"I never said anything about the bedroom!" she defended, though she was sure that her cheeks were currently a similar colour to the tomatoes on her plate. "I'm...wait, what does it matter what I am? I'm not getting into this with you!"

Billy mimicked her movements, leaning back in his chair, smirk widening.

"What if I want you to?" he teased. Words failed her, as did breath. Unsure of what exactly was happening, she was stunned, both emotionally and physically. And when he leaned forward once again, as cocky as he was confident, she was not sure which way she wanted to run; out of the café or into his arms. "We could talk innocently for the rest of the day or we could face up to the fact that there is something between us. I like you, Rebecca. I think you're smart, kind, cute, funny...and it doesn't hurt that you're hot. It's not a case of falling for you; I think I'm already there. Have dinner with me tonight - a real date."

Her heart beat out of tune with her thoughts, his eyes and his smile rendering her speechless. And when his leg touched hers beneath the table - perhaps accidentally - she was sure that she would faint.

There was little denying how much she wanted this, but nerves held her back, doubt warning her to be careful. But she already trusted Billy with her life; how could her heart be much different?

"I have to go," she sighed, casting a quick glance to her wristwatch. "I'll be late for work."

He had known from the start that this was only a quick coffee during her lunch break and little more, but still he seemed exited at the prospect of spending but a little time with her. His movements mirrored this sentiment when she stood to leave. Reaching for a hand, he pulled her towards him, pressing a searing kiss to her cheek.

The last of her sanity left her.

"I'm not going to give up," he told her. "I'm going to get that date."

With a small, embarrassed smile she felt something twist inside of her; a sudden rush of confidence. The words formed themselves and tumbled from her lips of their own accord.

"We just finished date number one."

* * *

**_April 9, 2010. 2:30pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Leon was not much of a gamer. She could kick his ass in less than thirty seconds on Mortal Kombat. Even so, Claire was astounded at how badly he was faring against her brother.

"It's okay," she commiserated. "Chris has nothing to do but sit on his ass all day playing these games. He has more practice, that's all."

And then she turned to the baby in her arms, whispered a quick 'Uncle Leon is hopeless'.

"I don't sit on my ass all day!" Chris defended. "I spend time with my daughter! Taking care of a newborn isn't easy, you know."

She looked down into her niece's eyes once again, considering the feed she had completed not fifteen minutes ago, and the diaper she had changed shortly after her arrival. Jill had called her over to take care of Chris while she attended an appointment with Dr. Keller and ran a few errands, but it was Grace she had spent most of her time attending to. She could tell that Chris was grateful for the break, finally able to relax without worrying about his daughter or his fiancée. In fact, her visit had turned into continued attempts to occupy Leon on his day off; for once, the focus was not on the recovering family.

"Do you not have any other games?" Leon groaned. "Something you're not good at."

"They're in with the DVDs; pick what you want," Chris yawned before turning to Claire. "Is she not sleeping yet?"

He reached out towards his daughter and she moved towards him, allowing him to offer a finger to a tiny hand.

"She's getting there. You know she can't sleep when there are lots of people around."

Yawning widely, he made to push himself up off the sofa.

"I'll take her upstairs."

"I'll take care of it," she insisted. "Just take it easy. And stop scratching!"

Sheepishly, Chris lowered the hand that had previously tugged at the bandaging around his chest wound.

"You're starting to sound like Jill, you know that?" he growled. But his expression softened when he returned his hand to Grace's, locking eyes with his beautiful baby girl. "Don't forget her pink blanket. She won't sleep without it."

She felt his eyes follow them as she left, and she laughed softly as she approached the master bedroom.

"You are the luckiest girl in the world," she told Grace, smiling down at her. "You have a mommy and a daddy who love you so much...and you have the world's coolest aunt."

The sudden lack of Chris and Leon's deep voices did not seem to encourage sleep. Grace rarely slept in the arms of anyone but her parents, evidently feeling a security in their scent that could not be matched by a comforting touch and badly-sung lullaby. So Claire retrieved the blanket that she had left on the foot of Chris and Jill's bed, hoping that holding it close enough to the baby would help.

Curiosity got the better of her and she raised it to her nose, inhaling the scent upon the fabric, wondering what exactly it was about this particular blanket that the girl loved.

It smelled of Jill.

Smiling, she laid both baby and blanket on the bed and wrapped the pink item around the small body before taking her back into her arms.

"I don't know who is luckier: you or us," she sighed. "You could not have been born to a family who will love you more. You're special to all of us."

And of course, she felt that familiar ache in her womb. She had never considered children of her own in the present context, but holding her brother's baby in her arms brought forth wants and needs that she had never felt before. And she wondered how similar her own child would be to Grace, how many of the Redfield traits they would inherit.

"Well you're definitely a Valentine too," she thought aloud. "Redfield babies are never so quiet."

"The adults aren't much better."

She jumped at the sound of Leon's voice, mentally scolding both herself and him.

"Don't scare me when I have a baby in my arms!" she warned.

With soft laughter, Leon approached her, lifting her chin with his fingers to kiss her lips.

"A tornado could sweep through this house and you would still be holding her when it passed," he pointed out. "You're almost as protective over her as her parents are."

Claire did not dispute this. Redfields were always protective over family members; it was as though it was written into their DNA.

"When I think of what almost happened to her..." she spoke nervously. "I get scared, and angry, and I remember everything that Jill went through."

"She's a tough girl, she'll pull through. And I'm sure Little Miss Redfield will grow up to be no different. She has three strong, beautiful women to look up to."

"A strong woman who can't even get a three-week-old to sleep," Claire said, rolling her eyes. His compliments had been coming so thick and fast lately that she was forced to place an emotional barrier between her and them lest her ego swell to gigantic proportions.

She wondered if there was something wrong with her hold. Her breasts were not as large as Jill's; did the difference matter? And did the size of her arms compared to Chris's affect how comfortable the girl was?

Her eyes wandered as she swayed, rested on the smile that seemed fixed upon Leon's lips.

"Do you want to try?" she asked, not quite knowing where the idea had come from. With a bewildered expression, his smile faded.

"Just hold her," she laughed. "She's a baby, not a bomb."

"If I dropped a bomb, the fallout wouldn't be half as bad as what will happen if I drop her."

She raised her eyebrows and with a sigh he held out his arms, allowed her to place Grace gently into them. He adjusted her for both of their comfort, his stance awkward. Evidently, he did not have much experience with children.

"Wow," he breathed, chuckling at his amazement. "She's...she's looking at me."

Claire brought a hand to her mouth, stifling laughter. She had never witnessed Leon Kennedy appear so lost and confused.

"She likes you," she whispered, slipping an arm around his waist.

The ache in her womb only grew as she watched the man she loved smile down at the baby. They had not talked about their relationship since the admission of 'I love you', only repeated the sentiment (though she wished that Leon would not repeat it so much, as though h were making up for lost time).

"I think I could get used to this," he mused, waiting a few seconds before meeting her eyes. "Could you?"

It was not often that Claire found herself stunned into silence.

"Uh-"

"I'm not asking you to have a baby," he laughed, amused at where her thoughts had evidently wandered. "At least...not yet."

"I thought you didn't want children!"

"I never said that," he defended. "I said I didn't know. But, seeing how much happiness this little one has brought...I want that. I want a child of my own someday. I guess I just never realised it before."

There was little point in hiding how happy this news made her. A month ago she could not squeeze an 'I love you' from him, and now he was giving her everything that she had ever wanted. Loathe though she was to admit it, she owed a lot to Ada Wong.

So with a smile, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before turning to gaze down at Grace.

"Oh my God!" she gasped. "She's sleeping! How did you do that?"

Leon simply smiled as he took the baby to her basket and laid her down gently. The care that he took with her touched Claire's heart; for a man with little experience with children, he seemed to have no problem taking care of them.

"You are just full of surprises, Mr. Kennedy."

Attention was now on her, and she folded into him when he wrapped his arms around her, stealing her breath with a long kiss. And she held onto him, hoping that the moment would never end.

"Move in with me."

His lips brushed against hers as he spoke. Indeed, she believe that she had dreamt those words, that she was so lost in a fiery kiss that her mind had begun to play tricks on her. But when he pulled away, she could tell just how serious he was.

"We have been exhausting ourselves lately just trying to find five minutes to spend together," he pointed out. "Why else would I be here right now, getting my ass kicked by your brother? If we lived together, we would see each other every day; we wouldn't need to worry about finding time."

His logic was sound, and she knew in her heart that she wanted this, but she knew that it would have surprised them both if she gave up without a fight.

"But I don't like your apartment," she argued. "It's too small. And mine is too far from your workplace."

"Isn't Terra Save opening new offices in D.C.? We could find a new place, one that would make us both happy. And it's quicker to travel here from D.C. than it is from where you live now; you would be closer to your family."

As always, he knew how to sway her. So she nodded, chewing on her bottom lip.

Life was truly moving forward, for everyone.

* * *

**_April 9, 2010. 5:30pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Worry had brought Chris to the house phone, clutching it tightly in one hand. Where was she? She should have been home hours ago. Yet he remained alone, and there was not a single text message waiting when he found his cell.

'What if something happened to her? What if they came back?'

He did not want to worry, but how could he not? He knew the pain of losing her, and the thought of experiencing that again terrified him to no end. If any harm came to her, he would be unable to fight for her in his current state, would perhaps even be unable to protect their daughter if they came for her too.

But then he sighed, realising that he was dwelling on pessimistic thoughts a little too much. The BSAA had taken their personal security very seriously in the wake of Tricell's actions. If they lived in an armoured fort on the White House lawn, they would not be as safe as they were at24 Sycamore Avenue. In the early days, even their neighbours had been questioned if they set foot onto their property. Fortunately they had all taken it in good humour, and understood the necessity.

Downstairs, he heard a door slam, heard a key secure the lock. Every further move was anticipated; the jingle of keys as they were dropped back into a bag, the footsteps that paced around the lounge before a jacket was deposited onto the arm of the sofa. He could not have been surer that it was her if their floors were made of glass.

So he waited with a smile, shaking the concern from his expression before it worried her.

Footsteps in the hallway preceded her entrance, anticipation bringing him to his feet. She had been gone but a few hours, and yet he still longed to welcome her back with a crushing embrace. She, the girl he loved more than anything.

Shock kept him where he stood as she dropped her bag by the door, rushing over to check on their sleeping baby before any attention was paid to him. It was Jill...yet at the same time it was someone else entirely, someone he could barely remember after so many difficult years.

Brunette hair framed her features, lightly feathered with short layers cut into the length. The skin that seemingly fuller bangs fell across seemed brighter somehow, eyes seemed a more vibrant shade of blue. But it was not the colour that threw him, not when she smiled nervously in his direction. It was the smile, and ever sliver of emotion behind it.

"Do you like it?" she asked, fingers nervously playing with a thick strand. He felt that she judged herself by his words, and found none that mirrored what he felt.

So he kissed her, ferociously yet lovingly, both sets of lips bruised enough to hold back further smiles, which prevailed nonetheless.

"Wow," she breathed when they parted, arms around his neck. "I'll take that as a yes."

"You are smiling like you used to," he laughed, arms wound so tightly around her he feared that he would never let go. "Baby, I haven't seen you smile like this for years."

Her happiness was infectious and he laughed again when she did.

"I feel...different, somehow," she admitted. "It wasn't cheap and the blonde was so bright that it took forever to get the right shade, but...when I looked into the mirror, I finally recognised the girl staring back at me. I guess this was the final piece of me left to find."

Chris ran his fingers through her hair, not minding the waft of salon products that rewarded his actions.

"I always preferred brunettes," he joked.

And then he kissed her again, her warmth melding into his, the sweet taste of her lips as intoxicating as it was exhilarating. It amazed him that she could still set fire to his soul with a simple brush of her lips against his, that every kiss told him something new, taught him yet another way in which she loved him. And she was his, against the odds; that would be certain as long as the Earth still stood around them, and for an eternity thereafter.

"I love you so much," she whispered, their noses touching.

He must have heard those words a thousand times, but his heart treated them as a revelation every time. To know that she loved him made everything else irrelevant.

"Has Grace been okay?"

She stepped back, smudging tears from her eyes. He could tell by the glances that she shot the sleeping infant that there was nothing she wanted to do more than take their little girl into her arms. It was an emotion that overcame him too often, and it was still strange to consider that there was a third person in their relationship now. To say that she was a welcome addition would be understating how they both felt; it was as though a fragment of their souls and of their love had separated to form a being so strange and wonderful to behold that they knew their lives would never be the same. She was so much more than a daughter to them, and they loved her more than they had thought was ever possible.

"I think she's due another feed soon," he hummed, wrapping his arms around her from behind, if only to bury his nose in her hair. "I love how her eyes always light up when she sees you."

Jill giggled, placing her arms over his, leaning back into his body.

"The same thing happens when she sees you," she pointed out, voice soft, as though woven from the happiness he could _feel_ radiating from her. "I spent most of my session talking about her. I thought I was over-compensating, but Dr. Keller said that she has never seen me so happy. And that was before I visited the salon! She even reduced our sessions to one every fortnight. Apparently, I'm doing well."

She spoke the last sentence with pride, and the same emotion swelled within him.

Grace snuffled in her sleep, nose twitching momentarily.

"I'm glad I found you," Jill sighed. It was a sentiment shared, but one rarely expressed.

"I love you," he returned, brushing his lips against the soft, perfumed skin of her neck. "We should let her sleep."

She took his hand when he moved away, gently sliding her fingertips over his palm. There was a skip in her step that had been lost in Raccoon City, a light in her eyes that the war had extinguished for so many others.

"Chris," she whispered, smiling impishly as they stopped by the door. When he turned, she raised herself onto her toes, placed a tempting kiss upon his lips. "My partner." Another kiss, deeper this time, his heart melting against soft lips. "My love... Thank you for standing by me, through everything. That means more to me than any words of love ever could."

He felt her sincerity in his bones, but could think of no words that were worthy of such an admission.

"You don't have to say anything," she laughed quietly. "My baby girl could not have a better father. That, and your love, is enough."

Smirking, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her out into the hallway. Knowing that the meaning of his words ran deeper than the literal expression, he leaned in close, kissed her temple before he spoke.

"It's good to have you back."

**AN - Please review :)**


	25. The Only Heaven I Know

**AN** - I'm really sorry about the super-lateness of this chapter! I've been both ill and busy lately, and just didn't have the energy to write when I wanted to. But here we are; the final chapter. Most of this chapter is just rounding a few things off and setting the scene for the epilogue (and I'm sure you'll all be able to guess what that is by the end of the chapter ^_^). Chapter title is from Stereoman by Ellegarden.

300 reviews! I honestly cannot thank you all enough! Thank you so much for all of the support. This story has been a bit of a challenge at times, and there have been occasions when I wondered just what I'd gotten myself into writing such a long story. But you have all made it all worthwhile! So, **_tek, sophie623, Kenshin13, C. Redfield 86, Skip, Metalmark, USWeasilgirl, .kess, Ninja-Gnome, x-Artichoke-x, Rose Makayla Black, xSummonerYunax, Gunslinger Nurse, Chocolate Milkahh, Agent Ada Kennedy, Kimmy, _**and _**Lemon Turkey**_ - thank you once again!

A word on my next story...it won't be The Fallen. I apologise to anyone who may have been looking forward to it, but the reality is that I just need more time to work on the plan. If I started it now, it could turn out to be one big mess and I really don't want that. I also feel that I need to write something a little shorter and a little more light-hearted after finishing this story, before I move onto something that will likely be quite dark. So I am resurrecting an old idea! It will be called Everything About You, and it is a pre-mansion story (I've had the urge to write one for a while ^_^)...and of course it will be Chris/Jill, but a little different to what I've written before, hopefully.

* * *

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Chapter Twenty-Four _**_- The Only Heaven I Know_

_'You're older, grown up,__  
__You won't believe I still think of you,__  
__But I still think of you.'_

**_April 12, 2010. 11:00am. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Chris watched over his daughter, slouched in the rocking chair that had once been a part of his own nursery. The relic had been believed to be long since lost until the death of his grandparents in 2005. As his parents had once left it to them, the chair became his and had spent most of the last five years in storage; he had little use for it prior to fatherhood. Now, he would often rest on the window seat, watching Jill nurse their daughter in that very chair, pure contentment radiating from her.

Some nights he was afraid to fall asleep, believing that he would wake the next day to discover that it had all been a hopeful dream, that Jill was lost to him forever and despair was once again his lone companion.

Grace slept, worn out by the day's visit to the park. She was still too young to truly appreciate such a trip, but the new sights, smells and sounds seemed to excite her.

He pushed on the wooden arms of the chair, aches settling into healing wounds. The bandages may have been shed, but it only meant that the pain was now accompanied by the irritation of clothing rubbing against damaged skin. Initially, he had simply refrained from clothing the upper part of his body, but the damage looked far greater than it was and though Jill said nothing, he knew that it frightened her. Luckily, most of his clothing was now at least one size too big due to the weight he had lost, so he was comfortable for the most part.

A tuneful song reached his ears as he made his way downstairs. She played a lot these days. Sometimes he would sit in the next room and simply listen to her. He would never tire of hearing the piano, not when it was her fingers that wove the melody. In the month that she was gone, the house had felt awfully empty without it.

She did not flinch when he found her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. She kept playing even as he placed a kiss atop her head before settling beside her on the bench, facing backwards.

"My father called," she said with a smile when the final note rang out. Hands fell to her lap, and she turned to him. "He made parole."

"That's great!"

"He wants to move nearby; he said he would take care of Grace when we go back to work. So we don't have to worry about finding a babysitter, or-"

Chris chuckled and a blush rose to her cheeks. Gently, he placed an arm around her waist, a thumb sliding beneath her shirt as his hand came to rest upon her hip.

"I know that his role as a babysitter is the last thing on your mind right now."

With tears in her eyes, she nodded.

"I've been waiting for this my whole life," she sniffed. "I'm finally getting my father back!"

He pulled her closer into him as she laughed softly, speechless in her joy. Her laughter was pleasant, and always brought a smile to his lips. As long as she could laugh, she was happy, and he was too.

"I guess it's good that we decided to wait to get married," he chuckled. "Now, he can give you away."

"Yes. I'm glad he knows you, too. Call me silly, but I want everyone there to know why I'm marrying you, not to be some guests at an event. I'm glad that he likes you, and he knows how happy you make me."

"Keep smiling the way you have been lately and the whole world will know," he laughed. She blushed and bit her bottom lip, attempting to hide yet another smile. "Don't be like that! This is good. We were all worried about you for so long; now we can see that we don't need to."

"Life is just so damn good right now," she smirked in response.

Silently, he agreed. And he kissed her, slowly, so that she was sure to feel every moment.

* * *

**_April 12, 2010. 12:00pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA._**

He waited like a nervous prom date outside of the lab, anxiously watching the second hand complete agonisingly slow rotations of the face of his watch.

'Just go in,' he willed himself, reading the lettering on the door for what must have been the millionth time. 'You're thirty-eight years old for God's sake; you're not a teenager!'

And so he knocked, not bothering to wait for an invite before entering.

"I was beginning to wonder how long you were going to lurk out there," Rebecca chuckled, smiling as she cleared away scattered papers. She was already dressed for their date; a pale green blouse teamed with dark blue bootleg jeans.

"So I'm not allowed to be nervous?" he teased. "After all, it took me so long to get this date."

She raised her eyebrows with a chuckle and a smile, and he reached over the counter to help with the steadily decreasing pile of paperwork.

"You need a hand?"

The soft floral tones of her perfume drifted towards him, and it took every ounce of restraint to refrain from kissing her then and there. Whatever his heart wanted, whatever _he_ wanted, it would just have to wait.

"Two drawers left of the centrifuge," she told him, handing over two slim folders. And she must have picked up on his confusion, because she laughed, casually brushing brunette bangs across her forehead. "It's the round black thing over there."

With no further clue as to what a centrifuge looked like, he wandered in the general direction of her gesture, tugging at each drawer until he found one that was unlocked.

But the simple task of placing papers where they belonged proved difficult when the existing contents caught his eye. It was Rebecca's lab, Rebecca's drawer...it was her name on the papers that already occupied the space.

Curious, Billy picked them up, knowing that his actions were wrong, but something compelling him to continue. They were letters, from two different establishments; an adoption agency and a fertility clinic. And they were not just any letters; they were responses to an enquiry.

"Oh my god!" the girl in question gasped, rushing to his side and snatching what he held, though it was evident that the damage had already been done. He could think of no words to speak, distracted by the ringing in his ears and the sudden sadness that had fallen upon him.

"I...forgot about these," she mumbled, blushing furiously as she anxiously shuffled the papers. "It was so long ago."

"It was last year," he breathed. "Rebecca..."

The signs were obvious, but he had ignored them all; she was an intelligent, successful woman, surrounded by friends who adored her...yet somehow, loneliness had taken hold, had haunted her regardless.

And suddenly, he could do nothing but pull her into his arms, hoping to chase away these demons.

"Don't!" she warned, struggling against his hold. But he was stronger. "You think I want your sympathy? You think a woman can't have children on her own, that-"

"Rebecca, I'm not judging you!" he interrupted. "If...if you felt this way, why didn't- Did you try to talk to someone?"

She relaxed, though not against him.

"I spoke to Kathy," she admitted. "I've always wanted children, but my life hasn't exactly gone to plan. It's not often that guys show an interest in me, and when they do, it never works out. Maybe it was selfish of me to think the way I did, but why should I give up on my dreams just because I don't have a man at my side?"

He reached the tear that fell before she did, wiped it away as he regretted the direction that their conversation had taken.

"If you didn't notice, drama is a frequent occurrence within my circle of friends," she chuckled. "I'm the only one who has yet to be kidnapped, blackmailed, infected or brought to within an inch of my life. And look at Claire and Jill; I'm not as pretty as them or as strong. I'm the one that always fades into the background. I've always trusted Jill with everything; she's my best friend. But when I planned to adopt, when I wanted her advice...she suffered a miscarriage. How heartless would I have been to push forward with my plans or to drop my burden on her after that?"

She was too kind for her own good, too thoughtful to bring her own problems to the fore. He knew her friends, knew that they would not see it the way she did, that they would take care of her as she always took care of them. But she seemed determined to face life's challenges alone; because alone, she was no-one else's burden.

Pity threatened to sneak upon him, but he would not allow it. Instead, he held her, let her know that despite her pessimistic thoughts, she was not alone.

"You need to learn to be selfish," he told her. "Think about yourself every once in a while."

A blush rose to her cheeks, and she tried to turn from him to hide her expression. But he caught her jaw with his fingers, slowly brought her gaze back to his.

And words failed him. What could he tell her? It was clear that she was not willing to listen, and so he chose not to waste his words, lest they sound condescending.

A kiss was always the best answer. And that was exactly how he replied.

The moment their lips touched, he was lost. There had been dreams (oh, had there been dreams), but to feel her warmth, to feel _her_...it was indescribable. And when he lifted her onto the bench, her hands moved to his hair, gripping tightly as she opened to him, revealing the passion that he knew lurked deep inside of her.

Reality violently intruded on the moment when she shifted uncomfortably, pulled back with an unsightly grimace discolouring her features.

"I...can't do this," she declared uncomfortably. And suddenly, he was afraid. Afraid of the moment they had just shared being unique, of something wonderful ending so sharply.

"No!" she laughed, catching sight of his expression. "I mean...there's a broken Petri dish digging into my ass."

Laughter surrounded them as she blushed, leaning to one side as she retrieved the remains.

"Well, it wasn't broken before I sat on it," she laughed. "I guess a perfect first kiss was too much to ask for, huh?"

Billy pressed his forehead to hers, hands resting gently on her waist.

"It felt pretty damn perfect to me," he whispered, sincerely.

A first kiss did not have to be the last. And he pulled her closer, claiming her lips again. No, this was not their only kiss…not by a long shot.

* * *

**_April 12, 2010. 3:00pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

Jill's sheepishness followed her home, brought her to cower downstairs when she should have known better. Bliss had devolved into irritation, and a fight had broken out between herself and Chris, though if you asked her now, she would be unable to tell you exactly what they had been arguing about. She was sure that it had something to do with stress, but would not commit herself to a definite answer.

Because she knew what it was all about, beneath the surface; intimacy. Or, if she was to be completely honest, sex. Although she would admit that she was still pushing herself perhaps a little too hard, she could not ignore the fact that she and Chris had not made love in roughly two months. In her eyes, there was something seriously wrong with this statistic when the couple in question were engaged to be married. But injury and childbirth had gotten in the way, and as Chris had once pointed out, she did get a little testy if a dry spell lasted too long.

Eventually, she pushed herself up from the sofa, realising that she could not hide forever. Whatever embarrassment she felt, she needed to apologise.

She found him in the master bedroom, but he was not alone. Grace seemed to be fascinated with the toy that he held above her, reaching up to grip it gently. Ordinarily, she would have chastised him for lying on his bad side, but she had come to repair the damage of their last argument, not to instigate the next.

"You know, every parent believes they have the most beautiful child in the world," Chris said with a smile on his lips, not once tearing his eyes away from his daughter. "But I think we might be right."

Jill could not argue, and took her place on the bed, lying on Grace's other side. Blue eyes found hers as attention was stolen, and she took a tiny hand between her fingers, pressing a kiss to warm skin. The baby smiled at the action; her first had only been revealed to them earlier that day. But the effect was no less thrilling; a smile meant happiness, and it was a contagious emotion.

"I'm sorry," Jill sighed, catching Chris's eye. "It was a stupid argument, and I blew it way out of proportion. Forgive me?"

"It's okay," he assured her, smiling this time at her. "I'm just glad that we're arguing again. I was starting to get a little worried."

She considered broaching the subject of sex, but words caught in her throat. His shirtless visage should have warmed her to the idea, but her eyes were drawn to the red skin of angry wounds, no longer concealed by bandages. It was only she who complained of the pain that they caused these days, and those complaints were always silent, always to herself. Those scars should have marred her skin, not his.

'And what of Grace?' It was a horribly familiar question. 'If they had hit you, she may not have survived. It all worked out in the end.'

And it always did, but that did not mean that she did not regret, did not wonder 'what if'. This time, the 'what if's brought her visions of a life without their daughter, and she knew that luck had ultimately been on their side. Chris's body was not hers to sacrifice, but the role of parent was shared, and she understood the move. She had never been okay with him risking his own life to protect hers…but for Grace, she would allow him to tear the sun from the sky with his bare hands.

"You still think I'm hot?" he teased, noticing the direction of her gaze. "Still want to marry me?"

"I may need some time to think about that," she joked. A hand left the grasp of an infant's, slid up his chest, feeling the rough texture of broken skin.

Chris did not flinch, though she knew that he would not even if the movement caused him pain. He never liked to show it, had denied it since their S.T.A.R.S. days. But she always knew how to read him, how to see when he was hiding injury. She never called him on it, always covered so that the others would not witness the side of him that she had.

"Even Bruce Wayne has scars," she whispered.

"He also has money," Chris chuckled, his mind obviously elsewhere. "Something which we don't have a lot of at the moment."

"Chris, you poured almost three years' worth of wages into a saving's account!"

"That's Grace's money," he argued. "I'm not touching that."

Laughter fell softly from her lips.

"Are we sending her to college or buying her one?"

A glare answered her mocking question.

"It's our wedding fund too," he explained. "Whatever is left goes to Grace."

Jill knew that their future was secure. The house was already theirs, paid for half out of Chris's savings and half out of her own once she regained access to them. They had not wanted to live beneath the pressure of a mortgage when they could afford not to. And on a more morbid note, they did not want their friends and family to be saddled with their debt should anything happen to them. Even now, after the kidnapping, they did not wish to move. They loved their home and their neighbours, and it was the perfect place to raise a family.

"Marry me?"

The words snapped her from her thoughts, their sincerity striking her as odd.

"Did you hit your head or something?" she laughed. "I already said yes."

His smirk worried her; it hid something, something that amused him greatly.

"Do you remember the second place we looked at for the ceremony? The mansion in DC?"

"Yes."

The smile grew wider.

The venue had been her favourite of those they had inspected prior to discovering her pregnancy. Something about it just felt so right. Within those walls she felt a calm that only Chris's embrace had ever provided. They had both loved the place so much that they had expressed their interest by signing their names, unsure of when exactly they would walk down the aisle, knowing only that it would be in that very place.

"They called while you were out," he explained. "They wanted to let us know about their availability over the next year...and they have a date free in July. I know you have always wanted a summer wedding. So I'm asking you...will you marry me in July?"

Nerves struck her, bringing worries to the forefront of her mind.

'You can't plan a wedding in three months!'

But the truth was that the wedding was already planned; previous months of preparation meant that she knew which florist they were to order flowers from, which photographer would capture the day, who they would invite, the colour scheme of the reception hall, the flowers she wanted for the ceremony... She was sure that they would be prepared by July, and that it would not be rushed.

"Okay."

* * *

**_April 13, 2010. 12:00pm. 24 Sycamore Avenue. Arlington, VA._**

"Are we done yet?" Claire groaned, wincing in pain as she rolled her shoulder. Loathe though she was to admit it, she knew that she should have listen to her friends and taken it easy. Painkillers had numbed the aches of the healing wound, and they had proven so effective that she had shed the sling perhaps a little too early and returned to her usual activities. Now, even the weight of her niece in her arms was too much.

But it was not a baby that weighed her down this time; it was bags.

"My date is tonight and I don't have shoes!" Rebecca complained. "Of course it's not over."

"You do realise that you don't need to buy an entire outfit, right?" Claire reminded her. But so far, that is exactly what her younger friend had done; a new dress, new jewellery, new hair clips...even new underwear, which both Claire and Jill knew for a fact Billy would not be seeing that night.

"Come on, Claire," Jill laughed, placing an arm around Rebecca's shoulders as they walked. "She's in love; don't you remember what your first real date was like?"

Claire thought long and hard. Because truth be told,Leonhad been her boyfriend for weeks before they went on a true 'date'.

"No."

With a sigh, Jill removed her arm and shrugged.

"Yeah, me neither. When you're dating a man who has already seen you naked, there's little point in dressing to impress."

"Oh, and we didn't spend a _week_ trying to find a dress that you were happy with!" Rebecca laughed sarcastically. "Now just shut up and help me find some damn shoes!"

Laughter and smiles were becoming pleasantly familiar, even for Jill. She seemed to be a lot better these days, both in action and in appearance. Ever since her hair returned to its natural brunette, the change could be seen in every inch of her. She walked with confidence, even wore a low-cut dress that bared the entirety of her scars. And they were not as bad as she had led everyone to believe.

It was not just Jill and Rebecca who were finding happiness all over again; her relationship withLeonwas going from strength to strength, and for once, there was not a single area of her life that she could fault.

Except perhaps that damn shoulder.

"I want to look in here," Jill said suddenly, distracting her from her thoughts. And before either girl could protest, she had disappeared into a store a little way ahead of them.

White in the window caught Claire's eye as they caught up. White, ivory, and cream; metres of fabric woven into what she would admit were rather stunning dresses...wedding dresses.

Jill was already perusing the displays when they entered, unable to disguise her grin.

"You set a date?" Claire breathed. Pain be damned, she flung her arms around her future sister-in-law when she nodded, happiness contagious.

"July 27th. So you better keep that day free, because I still want you both to be my bridesmaids."

The initial rush that she had felt upon the announcement of her brother's engagement returned. It was a day she had looked forward to since she was a child, and Chris's desire for a family became evident. That he was marrying one of her best friends only encouraged excitement; it was a double celebration in her eyes.

The group hug broke when they were approached by an assistant, and they allowed Jill to discuss the details of her needs. They knew from previous planning only to help when asked; while not quite a bridezilla, Jill knew what she wanted and went after it with such tenacity that it was better to simply stand aside and let her do her thing rather than be caught up in the carnage.

"Would you like to see some bridesmaid dresses too?" the assistant asked, suddenly including them in the conversation.

Claire prepared an answer, but Rebecca spoke up first.

"Actually...we're getting married too," she lied. "Could we...try on a few wedding dresses?"

Claire almost choked, not quite believing what she was hearing.

"Of course," the assistant agreed, smirking. She knew the truth. But still, she left to find suitable dresses and left the girls to wander through to the changing area.

"If I go all possessive and desperate onLeonafter this, I'm holding you responsible," Claire grumbled. Because weddings and babies had been on her mind far too often lately. It was only a small mercy that Jill and Chris's wedding had not been earlier; she was sure that she would have scared her poor boyfriend off.

"I'll make sure I throw the bouquet in your direction," Jill joked with a wink.

The changing area could have been a room from high-class venue; it was nothing like she had ever seen before. Ivory drapes provided privacy to the large cubicles, a large ornate golden mirror the focal point of the area. Claire dropped her bags to the stools in the centre, watching as the assistant wheeled a generous collection of dresses towards the waiting bride-to-be. They were all ivory and subdued, with little embellishments other than lace and embroidery. When it came to formal wear, Jill always did have a reserved sense of fashion, and her taste had evidently been conveyed to the store assistant in but a few words. And though she was not exactly the church-going type, she had made it clear all along that she did not wish to wear a white wedding dress.

Claire followed Rebecca's lead and slipped into an empty cubicle with a dress that Jill barely cast a second glance to. The cubicles followed the decor of the outside room, the faint scent of vanilla seeming to emanate from the heavy drapes, which seemed to erupt as she closed them.

The dress was a good fit, although she fumbled with the zip as she always did with formal dresses. She preferred not to wear them, opting for something a little more subdued; she never felt comfortable in extravagant dress, always more at home in faded jeans and a comfortable shirt. And she could not help but laugh at her reflection, realising instantly why Jill had discarded such a dress. It bulged in places that she did not usually bulge, held in her waist while somehow enlarging the circumference of her arms.

And that scar...

The blemish upon her shoulder was ordinarily hidden by her everyday clothing, never so prominently on display. And suddenly, she sympathised with Jill; because the scar was a symbol of her shame as much as it was an eyesore. The nature of Jill's scar was far more sinister than her own.

With a deep sigh, she stepped out into brighter light, gasping when she laid eyes upon the girl at the mirror.

"Don't react like that!" Jill groaned. "Look at what it does to my waist! This one gets a 'no'."

Claire glanced to Rebecca, who appeared equally as awkward in her choice.

"I look like Glinda the good witch," she sighed. "And Jill, there is nothing wrong with your waist! I think I'll marry in a suit."

She flopped down onto the stools, seemingly despondent. The dress was at least six inches too long, and the choice of bustier did glisten when light shone directly at it. But she laughed when Claire sat beside her, grinning through awkwardness of her own.

"We're bridesmaids," she reminded her, the younger girl's head rolling against her shoulder laughter became uncontrollable. "We're supposed to make the bride look good; I guess we're getting a head start, huh?"

But laughter soon turned to silence, a familiar figure standing before them. Claire knew they should have closed the drapes.

"No secrets, huh?"Leonteased, barely able to keep a smirk from his lips.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, feeling her entire body flush with unwelcome heat. The dress was never meant to be seen by his eyes; he was not supposed to know that she had done this! "Guys aren't supposed to see the bride's dress before the wedding! You've just ruined Jill's-"

"Oh come on," Jill laughed, clutching her sides. "I'm not buying this one."

Infuriated by the laughter of her friend, Claire jumped to her feet, grippingLeon's arm as she guided him out of earshot.

"I saw you walking into the store," he chuckled, lifting a strap that had fallen from her shoulder back into its rightful position. "Couldn't resist."

His nonchalant manner of speech did not surprise her; Chris obviously would have called every single one of his friends as soon as the date had been set.

"I was about to call you, actually" he said, his voice low. "I missed you."

It had barely been four hours since she had last seen him, but a smile negated the urge to tell him so and she stepped closer as his fingers moved to sweep a stray hair from her lips. Every letter of the words she prepared rearranged themselves, until she was left with not a single coherent thought in her mind. But somewhere amidst the haze, she sensed annoyance at the fact that he could make her feel this way; as though all of her years of education and experience had melted away, leaving her clueless and completely at his mercy.

But she would not have had it any other way. And when their lips met, she found herself smiling into the kiss, and wishing that it would last just one moment longer.

"I'll see you later," he told her, winking as he left her to her emotions.

She had witnessed Leon Kennedy charm many women, and had always sworn that she would never become one of them. But love had somehow weakened her, and she could never be sure which of them truly had the upper hand in the relationship.

Claire turned suddenly when quiet laughter snapped her from her delirium.

"What is it?" she demanded, realising that her friends had been watching every moment of her interaction withLeon.

"That dress, andLeon's work suit," Jill smiled. "You could have been standing at an altar."

She felt her cheeks blush again, but dismissed the comment with a half-hearted sneer. But the truth was that it was something she wanted, now more than ever. Everyone was moving on, starting lives of their own. It was perhaps a decade overdue, but for once it was happiness that invaded their lives, and not pain and suffering. She had a beautiful niece, and a boyfriend she loved more than anything...and now she was sure that he loved her back.

So it was with a smile that she retreated to her cubicle, ignoring Jill's assurance that she would throw the bouquet in her direction. Because she needed no other to orchestrate her happiness; for once, peace and fortune had found her.

**AN - Please review :)**


	26. Epilogue

**At Eternity's Gate**

**_Epilogue_**

_'As we advance in life it becomes more and more difficult,__  
__but in fighting the difficulties the inmost strength of the heart is developed.'__  
_~Vincent Van Gogh~

**_July 27, 2010. 1:45pm. Washington, D.C._**

Deep breaths did little to calm Jill's nerves. And she wondered why she was so afraid, why today of all days she could barely glance at her reflection without feeling faint.

It was because today was the day she was to marry the man she loved. Today was the day she would declare to the world that it was Chris, and him alone, that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Today was her wedding day.

"Don't you dare cry!" Patricia warned, rushing forward with a tissue. "Do you have any idea how expensive that makeup is?"

Jill cast her eyes back to her reflection and laughed quietly; she did appear to be on the verge of tears, but she truly did not believe that she was capable of shedding any.

Patricia smiled as she inspected the makeup that Jill had spent the better part of an hour applying. Above all else, Jill was glad that she was here. Patricia was one of her oldest friends, had even taken up a job in Raccoon City to help her settle into a new home. And after the mansion incident, when everyone else had abandoned her, she was one of the few who had stood by her, who had heeded her warnings and fled the city before the outbreak.

But today, Jill was thankful for her friend in so many ways. Because Patricia had always been skilful with makeup, and her talents had repaired the one less-than-perfect aspect of her appearance on this special day...even to the trained eye, her chest was blemish-free.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Patricia asked calmly, a hand on either of her friend's shoulders. "The bride is always fashionably late; I can hold them off for a while longer if you need more time."

But she did not, despite nerves. She had not seen Chris since the previous day, and already she missed him. This was the day they had been waiting for since their first kiss, perhaps even longer.

"I'm okay," she sighed. "Really. Thank you."

Another reassuring smile brought forth another wave of gratitude.

"You look beautiful. _I'd_ marry you looking like this."

"I'll keep that in mind if this doesn't work out," Jill joked.

Pessimism struck, and Patricia sighed.

"You forget that I was in your position once," she reminded her. "Before I married Nathan, I actually tried to climb out of the window and run down the street! It is perfectly natural to doubt yourself, your fiancé and your relationship. But trust me when I say that you and Chris are meant to be."

Jill did not doubt this, but the prospect of marriage was testing her emotional strength. Suddenly, consequences seemed direr, and the good seemed overshadowed by the possibility of what could go wrong. She should have known that doubts would still creep upon her. Glancing around the spacious dressing room, to the carved ceiling and the ornate dressing table, the awful feeling that she just did not belong here crept upon her.

'You do,' she assured herself, cursing the momentary lapse. 'After everything you have been through, you deserve this...you deserve happiness.'

Distracted by the sound of the door swinging open, she turned to see her remaining bridesmaids. But it was the girl that sat in the arms of her future sister-in-law that brought a long-overdue smile to her lips. Grace smiled as she was handed to her mother, letting out gleeful laughter.

"Look at you!" Jill gushed, smoothing down thin hair and hugging the small girl to her chest. She wore a gown of her own, matching the light blue of the bridesmaids' dresses. "You are so beautiful!"

And within Grace's innocence, within her very being, Jill found her strength. She had more than she could ever have hoped for; a healthy, happy husband to be, and a thriving daughter. Within the blue eyes that gazed lovingly up at her, she saw their future together, saw siblings for Grace and years of love and happiness with Chris at her side.

"You have no idea what is happening today, do you?" she chuckled, trying to hold back tears. "Today is the day I become a Redfield too. Today is the day I marry your daddy."

Grace smiled, but did not understand her words. Jill liked to think that she sensed her happiness, and that her smile was one of joy for all that today stood for. Because today was also the day that the demons of their past were finally exorcised.

Small fingertips pressed to her necklace; one her own mother had worn on her wedding day, and one that Jill hoped Grace would one day wear too. Grace had brought out the best in both of her parents, had shown Jill just how much she was capable of, and how devoted a father Chris truly was. If it weren't for their baby girl, she was sure that he would have taken the inability to return to his position as a field agent a lot wofrse than he was.

She had overheard him talking to her on several occasions, telling her how he was done saving the world, how the rest of his life would be spent righting the wrongs of their past – including making up to her mother for the times he had mistreated her for the sake of a victory.

Jill had found these admissions difficult to bear. Of course, there had been times when his determination had badly affected her, and their partnership, but when business and pleasure first began to mix, they swore that they would keep their life as partners and their life as lovers separate. She knew him inside and out, knew what she was getting herself into when she agreed to be his partner, back in the early days of the BSAA. No guilt, no grudges; that was the deal. She admired him as a soldier, just the way he was…she would not have dreamed of changing him, would have hated herself if she had. After all, he was the best for a reason.

'And you know he will always say that reason is you,' she reminded herself with an amused smile.

She saw that tenacity in Grace, though the idea often seemed silly to her. But whatever way she looked at it, she was definitely her father's daughter.

"I love you," she told her, softly kissing the girl's cheek. "You be a good girl for Grandpa today, okay? Mommy and daddy will see you later...and we have a little present for you."

It was a new toy, nothing much, but both parents had felt that she needed something on this day.

Reluctantly, Jill handed the baby back to her aunt, who seemed to barely be keeping her own emotions in check.

"I think what Claire wants to say is 'I can't believe we're going to be sisters'," Rebecca laughed, standing over her shoulder and adjusting the position of her necklace. "Are you ready to go?"

Jill slid a hand over the younger woman's, and squeezed reassuringly. Though she tried to hide it, anyone could see that she was feeling a little down today; Billy had left to visit family a couple of weeks previously and she had not heard from him in quite some time. His RSVP had been to the positive, but apparently there had been no sign of him yet.

"I am," she breathed, wishing that her heart would stop fluttering in her chest. "And he'll be here, Rebecca. I know it."

* * *

**_July 27, 2010. 2:15pm. Washington, D.C._**

Claire was surrounded by tears, and frustrated by the knowledge that she could not cry the way that she wanted to. Because she stood close to the bride, and even the slightest irregularity would draw attention to herself. So she continued to glance towards Grace, who remained quiet on her grandfather's lap in the front row. She was too young to truly understand what was going on, but anyone could see that she seemed to have picked up on the happiness in the atmosphere.

The entire congregation was silent, all eyes on the couple at the altar. She could tell that Chris was nervous from his mannerisms, but at the same time he appeared happy beyond words, barely able to tear his eyes away from the woman at his side. And she was beautiful in ivory, her dress simple yet elegant. Chris's frame was smaller now, due to weight lost during recovery, but he was a picture of good health.

And the day was beautiful, so much so that Jill had achieved her wish of marrying by the lake in the grounds of the mansion rather than within its walls. Hidden away from the rush of the city, it was quiet and calm, the breeze barely rustling the bride's veil.

It was the vows that had almost brought Claire to her knees. Jill's gratitude and undying love shone through her words, and though Chris never had been poetic when it came to voicing his feelings, his words had never flowed so beautifully. Tears slipped then, but she allowed them to because she was sure that no-one in the congregation shed more than the bride. They all knew of the devotion present in their relationship, but never before had the couple been so open and honest about their love in the presence of others.

And when Chris finally slipped the ring onto her finger, when they finally kissed... Claire was sure that they did not acknowledge their guests, that they envisioned themselves alone at the altar; as usual, they only had eyes for one another.

Tears continued to fall when the newlyweds disappeared to take care of the legal side of the proceedings, with the Burtons as their witnesses. But a tissue found its way into her line of sight, Leon smiling as she took it from him.

"I came prepared," he told her, patting his breast pocket. "Are you okay?"

She nodded weakly, smiling to show that she indeed was okay.

"I'm fine, thank you," she assured him. "I didn't think that I would get this emotional."

His arms brought him into her, the gentle breeze barely touching her in his embrace. The others had begun to return to the mansion, waiting for the happy couple to return.

"It was a lovely ceremony," Leon breathed into her hair. She hummed in agreement, not ready to let go of him just yet.

Renting an apartment together had brought them closer than ever, and suddenly she understood everything Chris had told her about his relationship with Jill; somehow, waking up next to the same person every day did not get old. Not when she was in love.

"It kinda makes you think about the future, doesn't it?"

She hummed again, enjoying the sound and feel of his voice as it reverberated through his chest.

"I've seen the way you look at Grace."

This time, she pulled back, perturbed by his words.

"I- What do you mean?" she and stroked her cheek softly, his gentleness both surprising and thrilling her.

"I can tell you're broody," he pointed out, a smirk forming on his lips.

She tried to deny it, but did not like lying to him. Yes, the truth was that she had grown awfully aware of how much she wanted a daughter of her own. While her niece filled a large hole in her heart, it only made another strikingly evident.

"I'd understand if you ran screaming from this relationship," she laughed sheepishly. "I'm sorry; I can't help it! I always knew that this would happen when my brother had children."

The fact that Leon's smile did not disappear was all that assured her that he did not think that she was insane. Yet again, she reflected upon how lucky she was, and how much she loved this man. Because not only did he acknowledge her quirks, not only did he accept them, but he cherished them also; she could see the amusement in his eyes.

"Marry me."

It was not the response she had been expecting. Truly, she wondered if she had heard him correctly.

"I can tell that didn't register, so I'll ask you again," he chuckled. "Marry me, Claire Redfield."

She felt the colour drain from her features, felt her heartbeat increase dramatically.

"You can't just ask me like that!"

Again, it was not a reply that she had been expecting, even though this one was her own. She had dreamt of this moment, had wanted it for so long and at times had convinced herself that it would never come. And now that it had, her reply was not an enthusiastic "Yes!", but rather a humorous rebuttal.

"How am I supposed to ask you?" He seemed genuinely confused. Evidently, he had been sincere, had genuinely asked for her hand in marriage.

"S-Somewhere other than my brother's wedding!"

'Yes! Yes! Oh for the love of all that is holy, just say yes!'

"You don't even have a ring! You can't propose without a ring!"

Leon began to laugh, and she realised that her voice had become high-pitched and her eyes were wide.

"I might have a ring," he teased. "You don't know that."

"Do you?"

He frowned, and took her trembling hands in his, which she found were shaking too; he was just as nervous as she.

"No," he laughed softly. "I don't. But I do want to marry you. And I will keep asking you until you say yes. I can be quite persistent when I want to be."

A smile cracked through her shock, and she knew from the look in his eyes that he saw it. She wanted this more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

"Ask me again when you have a ring," she teased, allowing her smile to become a smirk, and she turned on her heel, ready to rejoin the other bridesmaids indoors.

"Is that a yes?" he called after her.

But she kept silent, grinning all the way to the door. Because it _was_ a yes...and he knew it as well as she did.

* * *

**_July 27, 2010. 3:25pm. Washington, D.C._**

Rebecca sighed as she was greeted with the same response that had met her last several attempts to call Billy. Not even a ring, just the claim that the number was not available.

She was no stranger to heartache, but somehow she had expected this relationship to be different. She could not have predicted it ending this way, because she was under the delusion that it would never end at all. After all, he had passed on the opportunity to work for the BSAA with the claim that it would take him away from her for too long; a career as part of a S.W.A.T. team seemed to serve his interests far better.

It was she who had persuaded him into taking a trip to visit the family he had disconnected himself from many years ago. One phone call was all that she had received, the day he arrived in Ohio. Since then, not even a text message had been received, and every attempt to contact him failed.

She promised herself that she wouldn't cry, but it became more and more difficult with every day that passed.

So when she saw him in the doorway, she believed that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Then he moved, approached her slowly as she found herself frozen despite the urge to run.

"You look beautiful," he told her, smiling softly. His eyes were apologetic, but she wanted to hear it from his lips.

Even so, she found strength and turned away from him. But a hand reached for her arm, held it gently.

"I'm sorry I didn't call," he told her. "My phone broke soon after I arrived - I don't know your new number by heart. I had a hell of a time catching a flight back out here...arrived after the ceremony started, just managed to sneak in the back row. I...didn't want to interrupt the photographs so...I waited. I'm glad that I found you."

So many apologies, but they bounced off her as tears welled in her eyes; she knew that there was no escape this time.

"I don't care," she sighed. "I can't deal with this today, Billy. I can't deal with us like this."

He stared at her incredulously, gripped tighter to prevent her from leaving as she had planned to.

"Rebecca, I'm sorry!" he insisted. "There was nothing I could do! You told me that I needed to do this - would you have wanted me to jump on the next flight home after my cell broke?"

No, she did not. But the worry had hurt her, and the doubt that it had left her with was nigh on humiliating. She knew that it was self-inflicted misery, but somehow she just could not help it.

"Of course that's not what I wanted!" Her voice was almost a growl. "I just don't want to talk about this right now."

"So you want to bottle it up as usual?"

Flinging his arm aside, she glanced around the hall, which only seemed more prestigious when devoid of guests. She felt uncomfortable arguing here, and wished that he would just drop the subject.

But somehow, his words had riled her, irritation creeping beneath her skin. She knew that she was somewhat of a doormat where her feelings were concerned, but she did not appreciate him pointing it out at every available opportunity.

"I'm not bottling anything up!" she seethed. "This is Jill's wedding day; I don't want to ruin it by fighting with you."

"Jill isn't around," he pointed out, surveying the area as though to prove his point. "The guests are all outside, upstairs or in the lounge. So why can't we have this discussion now?"

'Why do I love a man who irritates me so?' she wondered.

The truth was that she was afraid of forgiving him too easily. She was well aware of her submissive nature, and wanted to take a stand this time. Where previous relationships had failed, this was one that she truly did not wish to wave farewell to.

"You're not afraid of me, are you?" he teased. Rebecca laughed, knowing that he was simply trying to get a rise out of her, but finding the idea absurd nonetheless.

"Please..."

Billy moved closer, edging her towards the wall.

"You're afraid of losing the argument, then?"

She gulped as his height became evident, his muscular frame seeming so large next to hers.

"I don't lose arguments," she challenged. And suddenly, she could not remember what she was so mad at him about.

"Then why are you so afraid of talking to me? Little girl."

Red flashed before her eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing; she could see it behind his smirk. He _wanted_ her to challenge him, wanted her to get angry. Was this a lesson that he wanted to teach her? Did he believe that it was for her own good? After all, he had promised to help her feel more confident in herself, especially when it came to emotion.

And nothing riled her up quite like mocking her.

His back was against the wall in seconds, her fingers curled around his tie. Laughter only riled her further; she could feel the tempo of her heartbeat increase.

"What are you going to do about it?" he dared her.

Somehow, he seemed surprised when she kissed him. Whether it was from the action itself of the fury beneath the pressure she applied, she did not know. But he kissed her back, gripping her tightly to him. She could feel every muscle even through the fabric of his suit, and she wanted more, wanted to be _closer_.

Red turned to an orange haze.

"I...wanted you...to stop...being so...submissive," he gasped when they parted, breathing heavily. "But this isn't quite what I had in mind."

"Shut up!" she growled. Yes, she was angry at him, but her body did not seem to care. With a quick fumble, she found a door handle, tugged until it opened and pushed him inside.

The store cupboard was barely big enough for the both of them, but she found a bolt on the back of the door, drew it as he gripped one of the many shelves for support.

Lust drove her, anger adding fuel to the fire. Two weeks without a kiss, without so much as an embrace...the effect that it had on her was almost toxic. The world dissolved around her, left her with nothing but her emotions, and the man that tested each and every limitation they had. His body burned beneath his shirt, shallow breaths seemed to travel right through her.

Hands at her waist switched their position, so that it was his back to the door. The dress was in the way, so it was gone, pooling around her ankles before a gently kick saw it safely beneath the lowest shelf. And suddenly, Rebecca became very aware that she was no longer in control.

Billy was forceful in his passion, his kisses drugging her as she fought to free him of his clothing. She barely felt his fingers curl around her panties, dragging them as far down her legs as he could reach.

As air touched upon skin that had once been covered, her mind snapped back to reality, fear overwhelming passion, the urge to push him away and run for her life almost overpowering her. But his lips did not stop the trail that they carved along her collarbone and up the sensitive skin of her neck, just as her own hands did not stop as they tugged on the elastic of his boxer shorts.

Because the fire that seared all sense from her mind was not as new as her fear told her that it was. Somehow, it had always been there, deep inside of her, begging for freedom. And no man had quite the devastating effect on her senses that Billy did. He was both gentle and furious at the same time, loving her while seeming to demand that she succumb to him.

'You can't do this,' a frightened little voice whispered to her. 'What will he think of you? What if sex is all that he wants? What if he leaves you after this?'

Stubbornly, she pushed all thought aside. Lips brushed hers, a tongue begging for company. Her fingers were deep in his hair, the warmth of his chest increasing her fever but never breaking it. His body was strong; hers recognised this. And with a sudden burst of strength, she jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist. Hands came to her thighs, held her up.

His kisses became gentle, seemed to seek permission. Hers remained ferocious, and he seemed to take this as assurance. Fear burned through her as she felt his bare stomach touch hers, felt every defined muscle. But sense casted it aside, knew that there was nothing to be afraid of. This was what she wanted, what she _needed_. This was her, letting go.

A burning cheek pressed into his neck, a gasp escaping her lips as she felt him take the final step. And just like that, she thought of nothing, felt nothing save for the arms that held her and the hands that touched her in a way that once made her blush. His strength was incredible, and she could do nothing but succumb to it, tilting her head back. Neck now open to him, he was sure to kiss the exposed flesh, never once breaking the tempo. His warmth felt as a furnace, consuming her until there was nothing that she could do but ride the flames, the need to remain silent almost torturous with its limitations.

Billy smirked when his eyes caught hers, moments before his lips fell to their counterparts. Through every kiss, she felt passion, felt love as she had never felt it before. It descended, the pain from the shelf that dug into her vertebrae inconsequential. His breaths became deep and laboured, breaking their kiss. Smiling mischievously, she summoned her remaining energy, slowly kissed his temple, pleaded with him to end the beautiful torture.

The heat reached a crescendo, set ablaze every inch of her skin. Despite restraint, she cried out, not caring if they were heard. Lost in her own sweet release, she gripped him tighter, felt his hands slip against her thighs as he gripped them tight, delivering one final thrust before his head fell into the curve of her shoulder.

Her limbs were weakened, enough that she was grateful for his strength to hold her up.

"I love you," he breathed, kissing up the side of her neck until their eyes finally met. "I think somehow I always have."

It was the first time she had heard him speak those words, and they sounded sweeter than she had ever thought they would. Because he was the only man she had ever wanted to utter those three words.

"I love you too," she sighed. The release came as a cool breeze to her heart. "This was...so much better than the dreams."

Delirium, it seemed, was forcing her thoughts into the open. She blushed as he laughed softly then kissed her lips.

"So you _have_ been dreaming about me, huh?" he teased.

* * *

**_July 17, 2010. 7:00pm. Washington, D.C._**

Jill wore dresses often these days. In fact, she always had. Despite her profession and her often tough-as-nails attitude, she was never a tomboy. She would look upon makeup counters with the same eagerness he saw in her eyes every time they tested new firearms. One day, she would be crawling through mud at his side; the next looking radiant at an official function in a little black dress with a crimson smile. Just as she could stare down the barrel of a terrorist's gun without so much of a twitch in her expression, yet cried when he spoke careless words in the heat of an argument.

It was one of the many reasons why he loved her.

Chris smiled to himself, the warmth of her hand in his providing comfort that only she ever could. Her head rested gently against his chest, her feet moving as she danced, though they did not move far. Others waltzed around the dance floor, but they moved within the same small circle, caring more about one another's company than the song.

"You look beautiful," he whispered into her hair, which had been carefully pinned up for the occasion. He must have told her a thousand times, but she truly did. Hours had passed since he had first glimpsed her in her wedding dress, yet he found that he had still not quite caught his breath.

He had seen her wear many dresses, but not quite suited her so much as this one. Perhaps he was biased? After all, it was no ordinary dress.

"Thank you," she hummed. She pulled back, a contented smile shining up at him. "You clean up well too. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that you look rather handsome in a tux."

"And I don't look handsome outside of a tux?"

She chuckled lightly, leaned in closer.

"There is another word for those circumstances...I guess you'll find out tonight."

Her lips caught his, and they froze as they stole a moment for a deep kiss. While often shying away from public displays of affection, at least of this intensity, they did not care on this day...because they knew that no one else did.

"Jill Redfield," she sighed. "I like that."

Her arm pulled back, allowing her hand to slide onto his shoulder. He knew that she just wanted to look upon her ring; he had found himself doing the exact same thing quite a lot since the ceremony. Somehow, he could not quite believe that they had finally married.

Of course, she was still Jill Valentine as far as the law was concerned, but he had witnessed her diligently finalising all of the paperwork so that she could submit it all the morning after their wedding and make her new name official. It did not matter to him; she had been a part of his family for so long, names were irrelevant.

Still, he could not deny that it thrilled him to hear her name paired with his.

"Hey, Chris," she said, eyes suddenly fixated on his tie. When they snapped back up to meet his once again, he sensed curiosity deep within their depths. "Were you nervous this morning?"

Smiling, he understood just why she had asked; she was trying to rationalise her own nerves, but feared that expressing this outright would cause him to worry. The truth was that he would have worried had she not felt unsure in the moments leading up to this day. They already knew that they wanted to spend their lives together, but somehow marriage still seemed like such a big step.

And he _had_ felt nervous that morning. He had been afraid that he would mess things up, afraid that he would let her down.

"Yes," he chuckled. "And it's okay that you did too."

"I felt like running," she sighed. "The return of pessimism, I guess. I saw the mansion, my dress, and how beautiful everyone looked...and I just felt that I didn't deserve this. But you know what? I do. I deserve this, and I deserve you. I deserve a thousand lifetimes of happiness for all the shit I've been through...we both do."

Chris laughed in agreement. It pleased him to hear that she was thinking about herself, was overcoming fears with rationality.

"Even so...I'd take this one lifetime, as long as I can be with you."

So far, he had succeeded in remaining composed. The ceremony had tested his emotional strength, but somehow he had pulled through. Now...now he could feel the dam breaking. So he held her tight, bringing their slow dance to a standstill.

"Don't you dare cry now," Jill joked, returning his embrace with desperate strength.

Laughter overcame him, chasing back tears. And he loosened his grip, just enough so that he could steal a kiss.

"Are you going to be okay?"

He was not sure if she was teasing him or if her words were genuine, but he assured her that he was all the same.

"Okay then," she smiled. "I need to take a break. We'll continue this later."

They parted with a kiss, her smile lingering as she disappeared out of the room. He did not think that he had seen her without a smile on her lips that day.

He left the dance floor to rejoin their table, which remained empty. It gave him time to listen to his thoughts, and to once again smile down at the ring on his left hand. It was plain gold, nothing fancy, but its meaning extended beyond physical appearance. This was the end of an era, and the beginning of a new, brighter one.

"Here's daddy," he heard Claire gush to his left, causing him to turn his head. Grace was alert in her arms, turned her head as he reached up for her, taking her gently into his arms. "I think she missed you."

Grace held her father's gaze for a few seconds, then smiled when he kissed her cheek. Sometimes, it amazed him how much warmth her smile could fill him with; she was truly just like her mother.

He felt another kiss against the top of his head, a warm hand on his shoulder.

"You did it," Claire said, smiling as she lowered herself into the chair to his left. "I am so happy for you. And I am so proud of you, big brother."

He could not help but laugh at her glee. It may as well have been her own wedding day.

"And, you probably haven't heard, being intently occupied with your new wife and all...Tricell's trial ended a couple of hours ago."

Though he willed himself not to allow work to creep its way into the celebration, he glanced up at her curiously, knowing from her smile that it was good news.

"The company is being entirely dismantled," she explained. "And not only that, but...the GPC have announced that they are launching a series of investigations into its other members, and that they are granting the BSAA more power over corporations such as Tricell. I'm not saying that nobody will pick up where they left off, but it's going to be extremely difficult for them to siphon official funding into illegal research."

It was the news they had all been waiting for. It was nice to know that their struggle had not been in vain.

"How are you feeling today?"

And just like that, the subject had switched. Already, he could tell that something occupied her mind. He considered probing, but decided to drop it. Whatever it was, she was barely able to keep a smile from her lips; it was far from bad news.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "I have been for weeks, so stop worrying."

As though out of habit, she rolled her shoulder. At first, he had been surprised to see her scar displayed so obviously, but his sister had always been proud of her scars. As a child, she was rather accident-prone and so had gathered a small collection of her own by the time she reached her teens. They had all faded before she reached her twenties, and in the end she conceded, knowing that she would never quite have as many as her brother.

Jill approached quietly, so that he did not realise that she had rejoined them until she was already in her seat, reaching over to tickle Grace gently.

"She's getting so big," she sighed.

He had grown used to falling from attention when he held his daughter. She was always the centre of attention, always the one to whom the compliments were directed. What beautiful eyes, what a lovely smile, how clever she is.

He watched her for a moment, as she pulled gently on the ears of her toy rabbit, which he held in his hand. She loved that thing; it could silence even the most powerful of cries.

Blue eyes turned to his, seemingly waiting for something. Instinctively, he pressed a kiss to her nose and was greeted with laughter. Her voice played with his heartstrings, the complete and utter adoration in her eyes threatening to choke him with the happiness it evoked.

Voices around them permeated the bubble that seemed to have formed around father and daughter. He did not know when the others had rejoined them, and Grace did not seem to care.

"Should we tell them now?" Barry asked. His words were enough to draw the attention of both Chris and Jill to those around them.

"Tell us what?" she wanted to know.

Again, Chris saw the smiles that had become a little too familiar that day; secretive smiles, concealing a truth that he found himself desperate to know.

"Your wedding present," Claire explained, soft laughter upon her voice.

"We know that you spent all of your wedding fund on the ceremony and the reception," Kathy pointed out. "The mansion wasn't cheap, and neither is this hotel. So..."

Leon passed a long envelope to Jill, who took it curiously and eagerly, ripping it open in no time at all. There was no note within, only what appeared to be a flight itinerary.

"Saint Lucia," she read, her voice trembling. "Chris, they bought us flights toSaint Lucia!"

"We booked a hotel too," Barry chuckled. "It's only for one week, but..."

"...you need the time away," Claire interrupted. "Leon and I will stay at your house and look after Grace, and if you decide that you miss her too much to stay out there, the return ticket is flexible, so you can catch the next flight home."

Jill turned to him, uncertainty in her eyes. He knew how she felt, because the same thoughts were racing through his mind. Could they leave Grace for a whole week when they had spent only one night away from her since her birth? If they did, could they enjoy themselves or would they constantly be wondering how their baby girl was doing?

But it was there, in both his heart and hers...the knowledge that they needed time away from the stresses of parenthood and life as it currently was. They would both be back at work soon; this was the last opportunity they would have for a vacation in the foreseeable future.

"Thank you," he breathed. "Truly, thank you. We really appreciate this."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jill's smile grow a little wider.

"But I mean it; if anything happens, if she shows any signs of missing us, you have to let us know and we'll come straight home."

Nobody argued with this.

"We'll have fun," Claire assured him. "Oh, and we also booked you into this hotel for tonight. We've already packed an overnight bag for you. Your flight leaves tomorrow afternoon; we will pick you up in the morning and you can pack your own bags and see Grace before you leave."

Jill's smile widened, her hand found its way to his knee. And with a gentle squeeze, each vow she had made was reinforced; every worry he had, assuaged.

"Do you have any idea how much I love your mama?" he whispered to Grace.

"Mama."

Those who remained at the table were silenced, the word shocking them all. Chris locked eyes with Jill, her expression devoid of markers but brimming with emotion.

"Did she just-?" she gasped. And then the levee broke, tears began to meander down her cheeks. She reached over, taking Grace into her arms. "Oh, baby. You said 'mama'! Can you say it again? Can you say 'mama'?"

"Mama," Grace repeated. Overwhelmed by the cadence of the word, Chris moved his chair closer to Jill's, wrapped his arms around her.

They knew that there was no meaning behind the word, that it was mere repetition, but that did not steal the sentiment of the moment. Grace laughed again, obviously enjoying the attention, and Jill cried harder. Ever since her breakdown, she seemed more susceptible to tears, more open about sharing what she felt. Becoming parents had brought out the best in them both, and Chris took it as a sign of a bright future.

Because the years had told him that together, they could accomplish anything.

* * *

**_July 17, 2010. 11:00pm. Washington, D.C._**

"Jill Redfield."

The whispered name was one that had been on her lips often that day. A new name; a fresh start. This was a new life, one that her past had no right to affect. Yes, she had spent years at the mercy of a man who wanted nothing but to watch her suffer, and she had almost crumbled beneath the weight of the trauma. But she had survived, she had pulled through, and she was stronger because of it. It was this strength that she carried forward, the pain and the fear no longer affecting her as it once had.

Jill Redfield smiled at her reflection in the ornate mirror of the Grand Suite's bathroom, running a steady hand over toned abdominal muscles. It had taken a lot of time and effort to regain her pre-pregnancy shape, and while not quite as muscular as it had once been she felt like herself once again, felt unashamed to stand half-naked before a mirror.

Because her body was not what Wesker had made it; it was her own, toned through weeks of yoga, assisting Chris with his recovery workout regime, and late nights at the gym with her friends.

It was this night that had spurred her on, the desire to look good in her wedding dress and on her wedding night pushing her to her limits.

The lingerie was a motivator; her 'something new'. It was white with lace detail, like her dress. She had never been keen on stockings and suspenders, but she loved the way they emphasised the length of her legs. Chris seemed to love her legs; whether they were kissing or making love, the warmth of his touch could always be felt against her thighs, his fingers gently brushing the skin.

She chose this 'outfit' for him. Long brunette hair framed her face, falling over her shoulders; he could never stop touching her hair when she wore it down. Even her makeup had been removed, her skin natural; he always told her that she did not need to wear makeup to be sexy.

That being said, 'sexy' was never a word she would have applied to herself.

"You still alive in there?" Chris's voice asked through the locked door.

"Barely," she muttered to herself, nerves seizing her.

Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door, heart pounding in her chest.

He was distracted when she re-entered the bedroom, tugging at his tie.

"Chris." Her voice was soft, but loud enough for him to hear.

The hand that tugged at his tie froze, an expression of mild annoyance falling from his features. And he stared like a dumbstruck teenager, in awe of the sight before him.

"You like?" she asked coyly, attempting to pose but becoming unsteady on her heels. She would have preferred to have been without them, but the outfit felt incomplete.

"No," Chris told her, expression changing to one of interested amusement as he approached. "No good; take it off, right now."

And she was amazed that the kiss he enslaved her with did not cause the offending items to fall off then and there. The power that he had over her, even now, was intense, caught her off-guard every time it was displayed. Loving him did not feel like a choice; it hadn't for years. Loving him was a natural response, seemed to be etched into her soul.

"You look _amazing_," he breathed as her fingers found his tie, rid him of it and then began to work at the buttons of his shirt. Soft laughter overcame him, his hands resting on the curve of her hips. "And you're mine."

"You're lucky," she teased. "I don't strip for just any man."

His lips were warm when hers brushed against them, his breath clean, stubble neatly trimmed. He pleased every one of her senses, awakened those that she did not know she had. Eager palms pressed to his muscular chest, fingers tracing the shallow ridges.

He had lost so much weight in the wake of his accident, but was in great shape still; this was the body she had known prior to her fall, the one that had held her after difficult assignments, had warmed her on cold nights. She recognised every scar that her fingers found, could recall the events that had led to them.

Fingertips traced a scar to his left side, meandered up to a larger scar near his shoulder as the other found equally smooth skin to the right side of his abdomen. Two bullet wounds, one surgical scar.

Memories returned, reminding her of the shock that had overcome her the moment she felt his blood against her palms, the terror she had felt as she watched over him in the hospital, and the weeks she had spent caring for him as he recovered.

But these scars were different to the others. These scars were obtained not in the line of duty, but in the name of family. They were a symbol of the lives they had saved; hers...and their daughter's.

Tears encroaching, she pressed her lips to the highest scar; the remnant of the wound that had almost claimed his life. Though she could not bear the thought of life without him, it meant more to her than words could express that he was not only willing to risk his life for Grace, but that he already had. It was a sacrifice she was all too willing to make, and she was filled with a sense of overwhelming gratitude that he was as devoted a father as he had proven to be.

Because Grace was their world, and no life was more important to them than hers.

"Hey," Chris whispered, his hold becoming more loving, a warm kiss pressed to the top of her head. "Not today."

But she laughed, and smiled up at him.

"For once, I am crying because I am happy," she told him. "This is it, Chris; we have come full-circle. We are finally _free_. For once, I don't care about what is going on in the world or who is hurting who. All I care about is my family and my friends...my husband, and our beautiful daughter."

"And I promise; that is all you will have to care about from now on," he assured her. "I want my family to have a good life, and I always get what I want."

Jill chuckled in amusement, mesmerised by the sheer feeling of want in his eyes.

"Oh really?"

"I got you, didn't I?"

The trademark Chris Redfield smirk appeared on his lips moments before they claimed hers. Wordlessly, he demanded silence, demanded that she succumb to him. Body, mind, soul...every inch of her obeyed as his touch set nerves aflame. Clothing fell to the floor, nothing between her skin and his but air. And when he scooped her up into her arms, heaven descended, bathing them both in its warm light. Lips and fingertips teased the soft skin of her legs as stockings were discarded.

Ten years of hunting. Ten years of fighting. Yet neither had forgotten what was truly important. The fight was not over, but there were others to take the reins now. They had fought for a better life, for a future worth having and a world worth living in. They fought for those who could not fight, and for freedom that finally they could taste.

Breath hitched, long fingers gripped muscular arms.

So many years of walking into the sunset; the glow of the sunrise now lit their backs as they walked hand in hand into the world they had helped create.

"I love you." Both voices spoke in unison; the anthem of a new day.

Weary warriors laid their weapons to rest. Because even heroes know when to stop, when the world needs them no longer...when it is their time to take their place in a better world.

Limbs entwined, their love was spoken through action, devotion emphasised with every kiss.

A marriage consummated, a journey complete...and another just beginning.

_~fin~_

* * *

**AN** - I was really hoping that this chapter wouldn't take so long to write but sadly it did. It was more difficult to write than I anticipated. I hope that you enjoyed the epilogue, and the story ^_^. It has been a long journey, and it has been a struggle at times, but we made it. Yes, WE made it. Because I could not have done this without the support of all of you who took the time to review! Over 300 reviews in total - I can't believe it. Thank you all so much *wipes tear from eye*.

**_The Sacred and Profane, sophie423, C. Redfield86, Skip, x-Artichoke-x, USWeasilgirl, Metalmark, IntangibleHope, Kenshin13, tek, Ninja-Gnome, Chocolate Milkahh, Lemon Turkey, xSummonerYunax, Gunslinger Nurse,_** and **_Rose Makayla Black_** - It is so great to see the same names pop up every time - and so many of you have been around since I posted Only Through the Pain, and even since the first story I posted on this site! Again, thank you for all of your support.

My next story will still be Everything About You. It will be a romance/comedy/drama (with a little action thrown in) set, as I previously mentioned, pre-mansion; the origins of Chris and Jill's partnership as they tread the thin line between love and hate. It is a standalone, and not related to anything else that I have written so far. And yes, 'Everything About You' _is_ from the song by Three Days Grace. I wanted to choose an original title this time, but I felt that nothing fits the plot more than the ambiguity of that phrase ^_^.  
The Fallen is still on track; Everything About You is quite short compared to this story, so hopefully by the time I have finished, I will be ready to write The Fallen (and I really hope it does not disappoint - I can honestly say that I am surprised by the amount of people who are looking forward to it!).

Anyway, I am seriously digressing here, so one last big thank you and please check out my new fic!


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